The Mask and the Slipper
by Lady Rosesong
Summary: EVER AFTER meets POTO. Erik has been sold into slavery by his evil stepmother and the thing he longs for most is revenge. However, by chance he meets a girl who stirs a new longing within him. There's just one problem: she's a princess. EC all the way!
1. Once Upon a Time

**Hello! **So a few days ago, I received a reader's comment about wanting to see POTO characters connected to the story of the Drew Barrymore fairy tale film, "Ever After". Now "Ever After" is one of my _favorite_ movies, with another handsome Scot. Mmmm...now that's what I'm talking about, a sword fight between Gerard Butler and Dougray Scott, shirtless...and then Sean Bean enters...followed by Hugh Jackman...sorry, what were we talking about again:oP ANYWAY! I sat and I thought about it, putting Erik and Christine in the "Ever After" setting...and slowly, a story was born and would not stop pounding against my head until I sat down and began writing, so that's what I've done.

Now while this will follow the "Ever After" format, it will also be quite different. How different? Well, you'll just have to read and see! Other important notes: in "Ever After" the story is set in 16th century France. I chose to set mine at about the same time period, but in a fictional country called "Eastergard", which geographically would be located between France and Italy. My reasons for doing this were simply because I felt it would be easier, writing about a made-up place, than an actual country that has centuries of history.

The story is **rated T**, although the rating will **eventually change to an M**, due to sexual content in a future chapter. If you are not of the mature age to read such content, please do not proceed.

And as always, I do NOT own Erik, Christine, or any other POTO characters, and I do NOT own "Ever After" or anything related to the film. I just finished paying off my student loans, which means I have nothing left to give.

So without further ado, here is my latest fic! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!

* * *

**Story summary: **"Ever After" meets POTO. Erik has been sold into slavery by his evil stepmother; the thing he longs for most is revenge. However, by chance he meets a girl who stirs a new longing within him. There's just one problem: she's a princess. EC all the way! 

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_Once Upon a Time..._**

_Somewhere in the mountains between France and Italy, 1812_

Wilhelm Grimm sighed with a feeling of contentment, as he breathed in the beautiful spring air that surrounded their small carriage. "Have you ever seen more beautiful landscape, Jacob?" the younger German man asked his brother, who sat across from him inside the carriage.

Jacob Grimm grumbled as their carriage jerked over yet another rock on the mountain path they were climbing. "Ya," he muttered. "Lovely."

Wilhelm didn't pick up on his brother's sarcasm. "Imagine…despite all the travels we have conducted over the last few years, we failed to come to here! Eastergard…"

Jacob looked out the window of the carriage and eyed the mountain view. It was quite beautiful, just as Wilhelm said; lush forests, fields of wildflowers, and clear blue skies that the very mountains seemed to touch. "Indeed," he murmured, taking in the landscape. "But it is such a tiny country; from what I understand, only the southern most tip touches the sea."

"Ya," Wilhelm agreed, his eyes still locked with the beauty outside. "And the population is quite small as well; but imagine, being the monarch of such beauty!"

Jacob appreciated his younger brother's enthusiasm for nature, but that was not the reason for their travels. "Remind me again what the letter said."

Wilhelm finally looked away from the carriage window, and dug into the inside pocket of his coat, to retrieve the letter they had only received a week ago. "It is a royal request from Her Majesty, Queen Christine II, asking us to visit her at the most convenient time, to discuss our collection of folk tales."

Jacob nodded his head. "I hope she does not have complaints," he grumbled. "They are simply fairy stories, spread about by simple country folk; yet it seems that all these foreign dignitaries and royal figures take great insult if we change a minor detail to how _they_ heard the story, when growing up."

"Nothing in Her Majesty's letter indicates that she has complaints," Wilhelm attempted to reason.

"Nothing in her letter suggests otherwise," Jacob muttered, holding back his curse as the carriage went over another boulder.

Within a few short hours, the carriage finally reached its destination, one that took the two brothers by surprise. They had expected the carriage to deliver them to a palace, or at least a small castle! Not a simple château…

"Are you two gentlemen the Grimm brothers?" asked a stately looking butler, dressed in a fine, black linen suit, with a royal blue sash, elegantly tied from his right shoulder, to his waist.

"Ya," both Jacob and Wilhelm answered, bowing low before the butler. "We have come at the request of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Christine II," Jacob informed, bowing once more.

The butler gave a slight bow in return. "Follow me, please," he commanded, in a deep, authoritative voice. The two brothers did not hesitate; they followed the butler into the château, marveling at its elegant marble floors, shimmering stained-glass windows, striking tapestries, and beautiful paintings that adorned its mahogany walls.

Many of the paintings were portraits, no doubt of Eastergard's royal family. Wilhelm actually paused in his walking to stare at one particular portrait, which wasn't a painting at all, but a framed picture of a rough, charcoal sketch of a beautiful young woman, with long, flowing hair, and soft, kind eyes, which seemed to radiate a deep warmth. Jacob noticed his brother's dumbfoundedness, and tugged at the younger man's arm, in a desperate attempt to keep up with the butler's long strides.

Finally, they reached the end of the long hall, which opened into an elegant sunroom, bathed in light. A few servants were scattered about the room, each going about their various tasks; in one corner sat a harpist, softly playing a classical tune, while in another corner, several caged doves cooed to the music. All of the servants continued with their tasks; however they each looked up to see the butler, and the two visitors that followed him.

"The Brothers Grimm," the butler announced, in a soft, but clear voice.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the servants seemed to part from where they had been standing, revealing another figure who sat upon a green settee, a cup of tea in her hand.

She was an elegant woman, who did not try to hide her age with expensive creams or fake lashes. Her hair was silver, and done up in a tight bun, with a lace cap crowning her head. She wore a simple, yet stylish lavender gown, with a white lace shawl draped over her shoulders. She lifted her eyes and smiled at the two brothers, before motioning for one of the nearby maids to pour a cup of tea for her guests.

Her eyes were perhaps her most striking feature; warm and blue, like the clear mountain sky that covered her tiny kingdom.

Jacob and Wilhelm quickly bowed; little doubt in their minds as to whom they were standing before. "Your Majesty," they both murmured, before lifting their heads.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the kind, old queen greeted, motioning for another servant to quickly bring two chairs for her guests. Once the brothers were seated, and had been handed their tea, she continued speaking. "I am so happy that you have come; no doubt you are probably wondering what an old woman, like me, wants with men of your notoriety."

Both brothers could not help but chuckle at her words. "Your Majesty is most kind; however we do not deserve such praise." Jacob murmured.

The Queen clucked her tongue. "Nonsense; what the two of you have done will make history one day, if not already. Future generations from all over the world, will read your stories, and cherish them just as I do."

The brothers could not help but blush. "Truly, what my brother Jacob says is true," Wilhelm murmured, rather bashfully. "Your Majesty is too kind." Wilhelm then reached down into a small bag that they had brought in with them, and pulled out a square package. "No doubt Your Majesty already has a copy, but—"

"I am very honored!" the Queen gasped in awe, as she watched Wilhelm untie the strings, and reveal the contents within the package. It was the first printed edition of _Grimm's Fairy Tales, Vol. I_. "A treasure such as this is worth more than all the gold in the world," she whispered with reverence, as she tenderly stroked the leather-bound cover. "Thank you, gentlemen; thank you very, very much."

Wilhelm and Jacob smiled at one another, as the old queen gently opened the book and began reading the first tale. "Fools scoff at such beautiful works, believing they can learn nothing from 'simple children's stories'," she sneered. "But these tales teach valuable lessons, such as true beauty comes from within…and treat all people, no matter what their rank or station may be in life, with value and respect."

"We agree," Jacob smiled. Perhaps he had been wrong with thinking that the queen had complaints? "Do you have a favorite?"

The Queen lifted her head from the book; her smile so bright one would believe it was illuminating the sunroom. "Oh, I have many, many favorites; it's impossible to choose one!" she grinned, but a pensive look fell across her eyes. "However…one story touches my heart perhaps more than others…" she whispered.

The two brothers were leaning in, curious to hear her answer.

"The story of the servant girl, who sleeps amongst the cinders and ashes? Who slaves the day away for her cruel stepmother and stepsisters, but whose goodness is rewarded, when she marries the prince? If I must choose a favorite, then that is the story."

Wilhelm grinned brightly at the queen's words. "Ya, that is a favorite of mine as well."

However, the Queen's smile disappeared, something that Jacob did not miss. "It is a very beautiful story, to be sure. And I am familiar with its many versions, as I am sure by now you are well versed in, through your travels."

"Ya, indeed," Jacob murmured. "From pumpkins, to birds, to mice, to magic godmothers; we have heard many versions."

"And many variations to the girl's slipper," Wilhelm added, recalling several tales.

"Yes," the Queen murmured, her gaze becoming distant. "It's always a shame, I think…when the truth becomes fiction."

Jacob's brow furrowed at the old woman's words. "Truth, Your Majesty?"

The Queen continued, as if she hadn't heard the older brother. "I suppose people felt that the story would fit more, if the servant became a girl, and the princess became a prince…"

Wilhelm exchanged a confused look with his brother. "Princess became a prince?"

"And what about the mask?" the Queen sighed, sadly. "The mask was always my favorite part, and yet it has been forgotten altogether."

By now the two brothers could not keep silent any longer. "Your Majesty, forgive me," Jacob interrupted. "But…what do you mean about a mask? What do you mean about princesses becoming princes, and everything else?"

The Queen smiled as she gazed at the two confused German brothers. "Every story begins with a seed of truth," she softly began. "Over time, that seed grows into something more and more…until finally, when it is plucked, the story does not even resemble the seed at which it started."

Jacob wasn't sure how much more he could take. "Please, Your Majesty…are you saying…that…that the story of Cinderella…is true?"

The old queen simply smiled.

Wilhelm leaned in, his eyes as round as saucers. "Truly? It happened? You know the story!?"

The Queen smiled and leaned back on the settee, before handing her finished teacup to one of the servants. "I know the story very, very well," she murmured. "But I must confess…it is quite different from the version that you have collected."

Wilhelm's brow furrowed. "How different, exactly?"

"Just as I said," the Queen explained. "The servant was not a girl, but a man, a man by the name of Erik Delahoussaye. And this…" she indicated, stretching her arms out to the room around them. "Was once, his family home."

Jacob and Wilhelm looked at the room around them, as the old woman's words slowly sunk in. "You mean…'Cinderella', was in fact…a servant _man_?"

The Queen only chuckled. "Haven't you been listening to a word that I've said?"

Jacob leaned in closer, his brow creased with confusion, and his eyes lit with a desire to learn the truth. "So…when you said that the prince was in fact, a princess…you truly meant that—"

"That the Prince Charming to whom Cinderella marries…was in fact, a princess, yes," the Queen confirmed. "The story is true; a servant did marry royalty…the genders were simply reversed."

The brothers exchanged bewildered glances. "How do you know all this?" Wilhelm asked with wonder.

The Queen smiled, and then nodded her head at the butler, who bowed, before exiting the room. "I know the story, because the people to whom I speak of, were in fact, my great-great grandparents," she simply explained.

The two brothers were in absolute shock. "Ancestors!? You are related to…forgive me for calling him this, but…you are related to Cinderella!?" Jacob gasped.

The Queen only grinned. "Yes; as I explained, this is my great-great grandfather's home. His family were of noble blood, and since his marriage to my great-great grandmother, this château has been…a place of refuge, really, for the royal family of Eastergard. In fact, I prefer it to that cold, stingy castle."

Just then, the butler returned, holding two large objects in his hands. "Ah!" the Queen smiled. "Thank you, Tompkins," the Queen then took the large, flat objects from her butler, and placed them beside her on the settee.

"Who was the princess?" Wilhelm asked, leaning in again, eager to learn more. "What was her name?"

A tender smile spread across the Queen's face. "Her name was Christine," she whispered. "To whom my grandmother, Queen Christine I was named after…as well as myself."

Wilhelm's brow furrowed. "She was not a queen?"

The old queen shook her head. "Christine had an older brother, and at the time, princesses did not inherit the throne if there were other male descendents. My grandmother, Queen Christine I, would become the first female monarch to rule Eastergard. It was often said that her reign was Eastergard's golden age…and much is credited towards her grandparents, for teaching her valuable lessons, much like those taught in your stories."

Jacob found all this fascinating, but his eyes were drawn to the large, flat objects, that the butler had brought in. "Forgive me, Your Majesty…but…may I enquire…?" he indicated, looking directly at the objects beside the Queen.

"Oh yes, of course," the Queen smiled, before lifting one of the objects and revealing to the brothers that it was a portrait, in fact, it was the framed sketch that Wilhelm had been staring at while they were being escorted to the sunroom.

"That's the picture that caught my attention!" Wilhelm gasped, his eyes widening as he gazed back at the kind charcoal face, of the lady in the sketch.

"It's no surprise that she caught your eye," the Queen stated proudly. "She is the very princess to whom I have been speaking about; Princess Christine, only daughter of King Leonard V, and my great-great grandmother."

"She is rather striking, is she not Jacob?" Wilhelm asked, grinning at his brother.

Jacob gazed at the portrait, admiring the charcoal strokes of the artist. "I must say…I am rather surprised at seeing it, mainly because of the medium at which the artist used. If I am not mistaken, it was the only portrait in the gallery that was not a painting…?"

"You are not mistaken," the Queen murmured. "For this sketch was drawn by none other, than Erik Delahoussaye, my great-great grandfather."

"He drew this!?" Wilhelm gasped. "Was he a great artist? For truly, it is stunning!"

"Christine seemed to bring out many passions within Erik," the Queen chuckled, before putting the framed sketch down.

Jacob noticed that there was another portrait lying beside the queen. "Is that of Erik Delahoussaye?" he asked, curious to see the man that, according to the queen, was in truth, the _real_ Cinderella.

The Queen looked down at the covered portrait lying beside her, a soft smile spreading across her face. "Do you recall what I said about the mask?" she asked, before nodding her head at one of the servants.

"Ya," both brothers murmured, their eyes locked on the mysterious portrait.

"Well…what if I told you, that instead of a slipper, there was a different object?"

The two brothers exchanged confused glances, before focusing in on the portrait that the Queen lifted, and revealed to them.

A gasp escaped their throats, as they stared at the image of a couple, elegantly dressed, gazing directly back at them. The woman was the same as the lady in the sketch, only now they could see that her hair was brown and her eyes were a deep shade of blue. She wore a kind smile, and looked quite petite…or at least looked that way compared to the giant that stood beside her.

The man was a large, powerful looking brute, very tall and very broad, the tunic which he wore indicating a strong, muscular chest. He was very dark looking as well, with shaggy black hair, rough, tanned skin, and very dark eyes, which seemed to glint with a hint of gold and amber. Where the princess was smiling, he seemed to be staring at them with a deep, grim look, and it wouldn't surprise either of them if he opened his mouth and growled.

But the most striking feature…was in fact, the full, white mask, which covered his entire face, save for his mouth and chin.

"The…the mask…" Wilhelm murmured. "Is…is that the mask you were talking about?"

"One of them, yes," the Queen sighed. "The original mask was black, but sadly, it was broken, many years ago. Ah!" the servant, to whom the Queen had nodded to not so long ago, appeared holding a small, velvet box with a gold lid. "Here we are," the Queen whispered, opening the box with great care. "See? All that remains of his original mask are fragments," she sighed, removing several black pieces that once looked as if they made up a mask. "But this…" the Queen whispered with reverence, as she carefully withdrew a white mask, the very mask that the brothers had seen in the portrait, "this was worn by Erik," she explained, showing the mask to their wide eyes. "And sadly, this is what your story is missing."

Jacob and Wilhelm stared at the mask with wide, disbelieving eyes. Was it possible? Did this once, simple fairy story…actually exist? And if so…was it like the old woman said?

"So…t-t-there was no glass slipper?" Wilhelm asked, looking up from the mask into the old woman's eyes.

The Queen chuckled, before carefully placing the mask back inside the box. "Well, there is a slipper, that I can not deny, but it is not as you know it, or rather, not as you know it from the story that you _think_ you know."

Both brothers were stunned by everything that had been revealed to them. They had come to Eastergard mainly out of curiosity to the letter they had received. They had no idea that they were about to learn the truth behind one of their many fairy tales.

"I think it would be best if I simply told you the story, how it truly did happen," the Queen grinned, settling back onto her settee. "Now, I must say, I do love that opening line you use…" she said with a smile, her eyes twinkling, as she noticed the way the two brothers were leaning in. "Once upon a time…there was an Earl, whose wife had died giving birth to his only child. So he felt it was important to remarry, to provide his son with a mother. And that, my good gentlemen, is where our story begins…with the arrival of a wicked stepmother…"


	2. Arrival of the Countess

**Summary: **Our story begins with Erik as a young boy. On a day meant for celebration, tragedy strikes...

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_Arrival of the Countess_**

_Ravenskeep Château, Eastergard, 1519_

"Erik! Erik! Where is that boy? Erik!"

The servant woman was not only frantic in her search for the child, but she was also growing annoyed. Today was a very important day at Ravenskeep, and there were far too many chores to get to done; the last thing she needed was a search and destroy mission for the master's son.

"Erik! Oh for heaven's sake," the woman grumbled. "Duncan!" she cried, to a tall servant, whose dark hair was streaked with silver. "Have you seen him at all?"

"I'm afraid not, my sweet," Duncan sighed, however unlike his wife, he was smiling. "Have you checked the 'usual' places?"

The woman groaned and rolled her eyes. "If I learn that he went down to that mud hole…"

"I SEE A CARRIAGE!"

The woman gasped and lifted her eyes to the tall tree that stood only a few feet away. Sure enough, right there, nestled in its colorful autumn branches…was the very boy she had been searching for.

"ERIK!" the woman shouted, her hands going to her hips as she glared up at the child. "COME DOWN THERE THIS INSTANT!"

"But Celeste!" the boy protested. "I see a carriage! I think it's—"

"No, it's not him, the carriage went past the gate," announced another child's voice, a girl to be exact.

Celeste's eyes widened with horror at the sound of her daughter's voice. "JULIA! What on earth are you…you have CHORES to do!" she was fuming. "BOTH OF YOU COME DOWN AT ONCE!"

Both of the children groaned, but did as they were told, reluctantly climbing down from the branches they had been sitting in.

"Oh, Erik, look at you!" Celeste groaned as the boy reached the ground first. "I just washed this tunic! What will your father think of me!?"

Duncan reached out and placed a calming hand on his wife's shoulder. "He'll think that Erik was simply being a nine-year old boy."

"I'll be ten tomorrow," Erik grinned proudly.

"If you last that long," Celeste growled, before shushing the boy towards the manor. "Get inside and change your tunic at once! Your father will be here at any moment, and you will not meet the Countess, looking as you do." Celeste then turned her attention on the little girl who had followed her friend up the tree. "And you, young lady," the woman growled. "You should be doing your chores, not climbing trees!"

Erik bit his lip. "It was my idea, Celeste, I bullied Julia into climbing the tree."

Celeste rolled her eyes at the boy's words. Erik would never bully a butterfly, much less a little girl. It seemed that whenever Erik got an idea into his head, Julia would quickly follow, whether that was climbing trees, swimming in the mud hole just beyond the château, or numerous other games that kept Julia away from her chores. Truly, if one did not know any better, one would truly think that the two of them were brother and sister.

"Julia, get on with your chores," Celeste muttered. "And you, young man, go and change into a new tunic this instant!"

"Yes, Mama," Julia grumbled, before turning and hurrying inside before her mother chose a harsher punishment.

Duncan only chuckled, as his wife went about her work, trying to organize everything for the Earl's return. He smiled down at Erik, who despite being given specific orders to go inside and change his dirty tunic, was trying to stand on the tips of his toes, to look down the path that led to the house. "Your father will be home soon," Duncan grinned. "And he'll have a very special birthday present for you."

Erik looked up at Duncan and smiled. "I know; I'll have a new mother, and a brother! A boy my age!"

Duncan grinned, before placing his hand on the boy's head, and mussing his shaggy black hair. "That you will, my boy, that you will. Now let's get you inside and change that tunic, before Celeste comes back and blows her top!"

Erik couldn't help but giggle at Duncan's words. "She seems awfully angry…"

"Nonsense," Duncan laughed. "She's merely tense; you know how she can be when it comes to preparing the house, and seeing that everything is in order when your father returns from his business ventures? Well, imagine that feeling, but multiplied by ten!"

Erik nodded his head. "She wants everything to be perfect for when the Countess arrives."

"Exactly," Duncan smiled. "But it will all come together, as it always does," he grinned.

They reached Erik's bedchamber by that point, and the boy quickly threw off his dirty tunic, before rushing towards a large mahogany cabinet, and pulling out a clean one. "Duncan?" he asked, as he pulled the clean tunic on over his head. "Do you think…do you think that…that the Countess, and her son…will like me?"

The servant's brow furrowed at the boy's words. "Like you? Of course they'll like you! How can a person not like you?" he grinned, helping the boy with getting his dark head through the tunic.

Erik smiled at the man's words, but it quickly began to fade. "Just…I mean…" he swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. "What about my face?"

Duncan's warm smile also faded at Erik's worried words.

Erik was not like other boys; he had a maturity about him that surpassed his young age. Within the past year, he seemed to hit his growth spurt, and was becoming quite tall, as well as broad-shouldered, just like his father. Erik always had a full head of dark hair; even when he was born his hair was black and shaggy. And his eyes were extremely striking; they were dark, brown-looking, yet when the light hit them, flecks of amber and gold could be seen. Yet the thing that separated Erik the most…was his face.

Erik's mother had died shortly after giving birth. There had been complications; Erik wasn't supposed to be born for another month, but his mother complained about cramps, and gave a scream when she realized she was bleeding. After many long, intense, and painful hours of labor, the child was finally delivered, but not without difficulty.

The boy had been born feet first…so some believed this was the cause for his disfigurement, although the doctor had no scientific explanation. Erik's tiny face was mangled, the flesh twisted and contorted on both sides, across his nose, which looked sunken in, on both cheeks, which were pink, with wrinkled bags of flesh that sometimes looked to be stretched thinly across the cheekbones, and all the way up to his brow, which had large, reddish blisters, that looked painful to the touch.

Yet Erik never complained about pain, therefore it was confirmed that his face had simply been affected by looks; the boy could still feel sensations, his eyesight had not been destroyed, and there was no problem with his mouth…which was about the only part of his face that had not been affected. Erik's father was very relieved at learning this, and despite the boy's scars, declared Erik as "perfect". It could not be denied; the man truly felt nothing but love for his son.

And that love was made obvious throughout the entire household. The Earl would not tolerate any form of teasing or cruelty towards his son, and all the servants quickly learned to hold their tongues, if they had an opinion. However, as the boy grew, the scars that covered his face became invisible. All the servants were so used to Erik's face, that none of them ever blinked upon seeing him. And while he was mischievous, as most boys his age were, Erik had a good, kind heart, which only made everyone at Ravenskeep love him all the more.

"Hear me now," Duncan murmured, bending down until he was at eye level with the boy. "Your father loves you, very much, and you and I both know that he is an excellent judge of character." Erik smiled at Duncan's words and nodded his head. "And your father would only marry a woman who also had a good, loving heart, and who will look upon you, and see you as the handsome, intelligent, troublemaker that we all know that you are."

Erik laughed and playfully shoved at Duncan's shoulders. "You really think they'll like me?" he asked, his dark eyes looking hopeful.

"Trust me, Erik," Duncan grinned. "It's impossible not to; you have such a good heart, that the beauty within it shines forth and radiates off your face."

The boy smiled at this, however the loud sound of someone clucking her tongue drew their attention to the doorway, where Celeste stood. "I did not think that changing a tunic would take as long as you both have made it!" she grumbled. "Come, come, there is still much to do, and your father will be home any moment!"

Duncan smiled at his wife, who only seemed to grumble, which only made both Duncan and Erik grin all the more. "Celeste?" Erik asked, looking up at the annoyed woman. "Do you know anything about the Countess?"

"Only that she is very beautiful," Celeste recited, recalling the letter that the Earl had sent them but a week ago.

"Did it give any details?"

"You shall just have to be patient," Celeste groaned, pausing to inspect the chambers that the other servants were preparing for the Countess and her son.

"I should do something for her," Erik whispered to Duncan. "Papa would say that is what gentlemen do."

Duncan glanced at his wife and then nodded his head at Erik. "A good idea, young master," he grinned. "Why don't you pick some wildflowers down near the pond? Just be careful," he whispered, glancing sideways at Celeste, who was barking orders at the servants. "You don't want to go and make Celeste upset again by ruining yet another tunic."

Erik grinned and nodded his head, before quickly turning and disappearing before Celeste could notice.

As soon as the boy had disappeared from the house, Julia came running in, panting and gasping and looking excited. "They're here!" she cried. "Mama! Papa! They're here!"

"THEY'RE HERE!?" Celeste gasped, her hand clutching at her chest, just over her heart. "Oooohhh, but we're not ready! The floors need to be polished, the steps need to be swept, and we haven't even finished preparing his lordship's chamber!"

"Which he will not mind one bit," Duncan reassured, putting a calming hand on his wife's shoulder, once more. "Come, let us greet our new mistress."

Celeste took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm her nerves, as she followed her husband down the stairs, and out to the front garden, where the carriage could be seen, riding up the path. "Oh, I do hope the master is not taken away so soon as he was last time," she murmured nervously under her breath.

"The shipping business is still new to him; he can not help it if it calls him away," Duncan reasoned.

Celeste's eyes narrowed at her husband's words. "Yes, but that was the whole point of going into business with that no good scoundrel, Captain Conrad."

Duncan sighed, wearily. There seemed to be no point in trying to get his wife to see a possible good side, to the Earl's business partner. "His lordship is a good judge of character; he would not go lightly into any business with a man he did not trust, just as I am sure he would not marry a woman who was not also kind and loving."

Celeste said nothing, but simply locked her eyes with the approaching carriage. "I just don't want him to leave so soon, especially not after bringing a new wife and child to Ravenskeep."

Duncan would have responded, had not the carriage pulled up right in front of the house. The servants all stood at attention, smiling as the door to the carriage burst open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man, with dark red hair, and a beard to match, emerged, smiling happily at the crowd before him.

"Welcome home, my lord!" Duncan greeted, extending a hand to help his master down from the carriage.

However, the Earl only grinned and leapt down, before wrapping his arms tightly around the servant. "Ah, Duncan! Does me good to see you!" he greeted warmly. "And Celeste! How I have missed you too!"

"Welcome home, my lord," Celeste greeted, with the same warmth and happiness as her husband. "We have missed you too."

"Ahem!"

All eyes turned towards the carriage door, and a collective gasp went up amongst the gathered crowd, as they took in the sight of the lovely woman, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back inside an attractive jeweled net, her green eyes sparkling as she took in the sight of the house before her. "Oooh, Victor!" she gasped, smiling at the Earl. "It's more beautiful than you described!"

The Earl smiled, before reaching out and helping his new wife down from the carriage, her beautiful, flowing, purple velvet dress, shimmering in the autumn sunlight. "May I present," he said with a large grin as he looked out at the crowd around him, "the Countess Dominique Montero-Delahoussaye; my wife."

The Countess gave a dazzling smile, as all the servants quickly greeted her, calling her "milady" or "mistress". "Thank you," she purred, smiling at the crowd. "I am very happy to meet you all."

The Earl grinned, before turning his wife to introduce her to Duncan and Celeste. "My dear, this is Duncan, my steward, and his wife Celeste, the manor's housekeeper," he warmly introduced, clasping a friendly hand on Duncan's shoulder, and smiling broadly, back and forth between the two.

The Countess' smile continued to dazzle, however if one looked closely, they would think it strained. "Oh! I must say…how charming; if one did not know better, they would think the servants were your family."

Celeste's warm smile faltered slightly at the woman's words.

"Now where is…ah! There she is!" the Earl grinned, as a giggling girl pushed her way through her parents. "Julia, my girl, how I've missed you and your contagious giggles!" the Earl greeted, picking the girl up and swinging her into his arms, as she squealed joyfully, before hugging him back, just as fiercely.

"I've missed you too, my lord!" Julia grinned, as the Earl set her down, once more, upon her feet.

"How sweet," the Countess murmured, as she watched the exchange between the Earl and the servant girl. "One would think she was your own daughter, if one did not know better."

The Earl didn't seem to catch the meaning behind the Countess' words, and pulled out from the pocket of his riding tunic, a tiny necklace, beaded with different kinds of seashells. "There you are," he smiled. "I always make sure I have a present for my Julia."

Julia grinned and gave a curtsy to the Earl, before turning and happily showing the necklace to her parents.

"What a charming household, Victor," the Countess purred, although her eyes were locked more upon the house, rather than the servants who surrounded her.

"Mama…" moaned a boy's voice, and all the heads turned once more to gaze at the carriage, as a pudgy little face emerged from behind the door.

"Oh! Thomas, come down and see your new home!" the Countess cooed, as the pudgy boy, with the same strawberry-blonde hair as his mother, climbed down the carriage steps.

The boy did not share his mother's enthusiasm. "I don't like it," he grumbled.

"Thomas!" the Countess gasped, looking shocked at her son's words. "You can't judge a place without seeing it first!"

"I liked our old house better," the boy grumbled once more, not picking up on his mother's meaning.

"Thomas," she hissed, her green eyes becoming dark slits as she glared at the boy.

"It will grow on you," the Earl smiled, not shaken one moment by the boy's disdain. "New places are sometimes difficult to adapt to, but everyone here will soon make you feel at ease and at home."

The crowd murmured their agreement with the Earl, although the warmth in their eyes was by no means as bright as it had been in the Earl's.

The Countess put on another smile and turned her attentions once more to her new husband. "I must confess, Victor…of all the faces I have seen so far…the one that I expected to see, is the only one that I haven't met," she eyed the crowd, looking for a boy that resembled her husband, or was at least dressed as the child of an Earl ought to be dressed.

"You know, neither do I," the Earl murmured, looking all around. "Duncan, where is Erik?"

"PAPA! PAPA!"

The Earl turned his head in the direction of his son's voice, and let out a happy cry, as Erik came running towards him, his left fist filled to the brim with a bouquet of wildflowers…and his body, covered from head to toe, in mud.

"Erik!" Celeste hissed, looking at the boy in utter horror. "What have…where…I…" she was too horrified to even form sentences!

The Earl however didn't seem to care one bit; he picked the child up into his arms and swung him around, before crushing the boy against his chest. "My son," the Earl murmured into the boy's muddy hair, before settling Erik once more upon his feet, and grinning at his son's mud covered face. "The first face I look for, and the last I find."

"Sorry," Erik apologized, before proudly showing his fist full of flowers. "I was getting a present for the Countess!"

The Countess put on a smile as she heard the boy's words, however she ever so lightly touched the tip of her nose, in an attempt to recover her delicate senses from the muddy smell.

The Earl laughed and began to wipe the mud off his son's face. "Well you best present it to her!" he grinned, before looking up into the Countess' green eyes. "My lady, may I present my son, Erik. Erik? This is the Countess Dominique Montero-Delahoussaye, and her son Thomas."

Erik turned in his father's arms and smiled up at the woman before him, holding out the flowers to her.

The Countess, however, gasped loudly, and nearly stumbled backward, as her eyes took in the uncovered sight, of Erik's mangled flesh. "Oh my!" she gasped, quickly trying to cover up her horrified surprise. "My…I…well…" she took a deep breath and summoned all her willpower to gaze upon the boy. "Aren't you…my, aren't you handsome, Erik!"

Several of the servants frowned; they could tell that the Countess' words were not as sincere as she was trying to make them sound.

Thomas was not as tactful as his mother. "Eww!" the pudgy-faced boy gasped, staring back at Erik in disgust. "What's wrong with his face!?"

"Thomas!" the Countess hissed, before reaching out and pinching her son's ear. The two glared at each other, before the Countess turned her gaze back to Erik, and put on a sweet smile. "Forgive my son, Erik, he is still learning proper manners, apparently," she explained, before giving her son another reproachful glare.

Like the Countess, Erik also put on a smile, trying to not let Thomas' words bother him. He knew that he looked different from other people, and it was rare for Ravenskeep to receive visitors, so naturally those who were not used to seeing his face, like his father and the servants, were shocked. He just hoped that his looks wouldn't prevent a friendship between himself and his new brother.

"Well!" the Countess smiled, turning her attentions once more to her husband. "I must say, I am feeling rather tired after our long journey! I think it would be best that I retire, before dinner."

"Of course, milady," Celeste murmured, curtsying before the Countess, although anyone could tell by looking into the servant woman's eyes, that she did not entirely trust the Earl's new wife. "Follow me, please, and I will show you to your chambers."

"Oh, what a gorgeous château!" the Countess cooed, upon entering. "Oh Victor, you must give me a tour later!"

Thomas obediently followed his mother, although he wore a great big pout as he went. Erik, however, reached out and grabbed a hold of the boy's arm. "Hey! Want to go fishing?" he asked, an excited smile spreading across his face. "My father taught me, and Duncan knows this great trout stream where we can go and—"

"Fishing?" Thomas asked. His own green eyes stared at Erik's hand as if it were a bug crawling up his arm. "I don't fish."

Erik was still smiling. "That's alright, I can teach you, and it's not that hard really—"

"I _don't_ _like_ fish, so what's the point in fishing?" the pudgy-faced boy grumbled, before shaking his arm free from Erik's hand.

Erik was momentarily taken aback by Thomas' words. "Oh…w-w-well, that's alright!" he continued, still trying to keep high spirits. "Do you like to climb trees? I know some tall ones that look kind of scary, but they have great branches—"

"I don't like to climb trees," Thomas muttered with annoyance.

Erik was determined not to give up, although his spirits were slowly sinking. "Well do you like swimming? There's a pond near the house…as well as mud hole, which is very refreshing on hot days—"

"Don't you understand!?" Thomas groaned, practically pushing Erik away from him. "I don't want to go swimming, or fishing, or climb trees, or do _anything_, with you!" And without another word, the boy turned on his heel and stalked into the house, leaving a bewildered Erik in the front garden.

The other servants had all dispersed to go about their daily routines, none of them witnessing the exchange between their two young masters, save for one. Julia, who had stayed behind, came up to Erik, looking very angry at the way Thomas had spoken to her friend. "What a little pig!" she hissed into Erik's ear. "If I could, I would march right up to him and—"

"He's just overwhelmed with being in a new place," Erik murmured, his eyes never leaving the retreating figure of his new brother. "He'll come around, I'm sure of it."

Julia didn't believe one word Erik was saying; she could tell that he was straining to believe it, himself! "Erik…I don't like him," Julia confessed.

"Just give him a chance," Erik whispered, turning and smiling at the girl who he had always thought of as a sister. "After all…he's my brother."

* * *

"Erik?" the boy looked up as he heard his father's voice. He was lying in bed, his hands folded behind his head, and staring up at the ceiling. The candle by his bedside was still burning, despite the late hour. 

"I thought you would surely be asleep by now," the Earl murmured, moving into the room, and kneeling by his son's bedside.

"Can't sleep," Erik confessed, trying very hard to hide the worry in his eyes.

The Earl nodded his head, but his eyes never left his son's face. "Perhaps it was because…you barely ate anything at dinner, tonight?"

Erik couldn't hide the guilt there. At dinner, he sat next to his father, smiling up at him, before turning and smiling back and forth between Thomas and the Countess. Thomas still wore the same sour expression he had been wearing all day, and the Countess, while she did smile back at him, seemed to be doing so with great strain. When dinner was served, Erik felt both the Countess' and her son's eyes upon him, and he grew very self-conscious; was it his imagination? Or…did they look disgusted with him?

"I just wasn't very hungry," Erik lied.

The Earl shook his head. "You? Not hungry? I don't believe it; you're always asking Cook for thirds," he grinned, although his smile slowly faded into a look of worry. "Is something troubling you?"

Erik sighed and sat up. "I just…w-w-what if…" he looked down, feeling so ashamed. "What if they never like me? What if…what if they think my face—"

"Erik," the Earl interrupted, his hands falling upon the boy's shoulders. "There is _nothing_, you understand, _nothing_ wrong with your face," his fingers lightly moved down one of Erik's disfigured cheeks, before falling to his son's chin, and tilting his face upward.

"But…but Papa, I look different—"

"You look beautiful, you understand?" his father emphasized. A tender smile spread across his face, as he gazed down at his son. "Do you know what your mother said, when I placed you in her arms?"

Erik swallowed and shook his head. "Mama died after giving birth to me…"

The Earl sadly nodded his head, but wrapped his arms around his son as he continued the tale. "But before she died, she held you in her arms…and I held her in mine, and we both gazed down at you, and she looked up at me and said…'look out our son, Victor; isn't he the most beautiful child you've ever seen?'"

Erik felt something warm and wet touch his forehead. He looked up and noticed that there were tears, dripping down his father's cheeks. "And I agreed with her," he whispered, smiling down at his son. "Some people think beauty comes from fancy clothes, or sweet perfumes, or gold and jewels, but they are wrong," the Earl murmured, running his fingers tenderly across his son's face. "Beauty comes from the goodness of the heart; and your heart, Erik, is filled with so much warmth, goodness, and love," he smiled, despite the tears that shimmered in his eyes. "Your mother would be so proud of you. She had a good heart; truly, I never knew anyone kinder or sweeter than her…and I see so much of her, in you," he smiled.

Erik grinned at this, feeling so much better. "I know I have her eyes," he whispered.

The Earl laughed. "That you do, my son. Rich, warm, brown eyes…with flecks of amber and gold, just like your mother's. And the same black hair, like her," he smiled.

Erik hugged his father tightly, before settling back down under the blankets. "Thank you, Papa," he whispered. "You always make things better."

The Earl chuckled, before bending his head and kissing his son's brow. "Just give them time, my son. Soon, we will all feel like one, happy family."

Erik smiled and nodded his head, before murmuring "goodnight" to his father. Yes, tomorrow was a new day, and tomorrow he would begin to do what he could to win good favor with his stepmother and stepbrother.

* * *

"You mean…you only live a few miles away from the royal palace…and you NEVER go to court!?" the Countess gasped, staring across the breakfast table at her husband in utter disbelief. 

The Earl simply continued eating his eggs, as if his new wife had said nothing extraordinary. "I never really saw the need, or felt the purpose," the Earl explained.

The Countess continued to stare at the Earl in wide-eyed disbelief, while her son poked at his own eggs, and made a face. "These taste funny," he grumbled.

"Put some salt on them, my dear," the Countess muttered, not wanting to be distracted by her child. She had more important things to discuss.

Erik noticed that there was no salt on the table, so he turned to Julia, who was standing nearby and asked her to fetch some. Julia gave a little curtsy, although she was not entirely thrilled about retrieving something for someone to whom she would describe as an ungrateful, spoiled, pig.

"Really, Victor, I must say I am shocked by your demeanor!"

The Earl cocked a red brow at his wife's words. "My demeanor?"

"Yes!" the Countess gasped. "How could you NOT attend court? It is your royal duty as a member of the Eastergard nobility!"

The Earl couldn't help but chuckle at the Countess' words. "My duty? Hardly, my dear. Now it is not as if I've never gone to court; there have been times when His Majesty has summoned me, and I go when my king commands; but other than those few, rare times…there truly is no point in making such a journey."

"But Victor!" the Countess sputtered, truly at a loss for words. How could anyone not wish to go to the royal court!?

Julia reappeared then, and brought the salt to the table, placing it just in front of Thomas. "Thank you, Julia," Erik politely thanked, before turning his eyes onto Thomas and waiting for the boy to say the same thing.

Thomas, however, stared back at Erik, his green eyes mixed with a look of disgust and confusion. "What? Why are you staring at me?"

Erik was taken aback by Thomas' rudeness. "She…she brought you the salt you wanted…"

"Yeah, so? That's her job," Thomas muttered, taking the salt and pouring a large amount over his eggs. "She's a servant, she's supposed to bring me what I want, and a good servant does it without being asked," Thomas grumbled, stuffing his mouth full of eggs. "You expect me to _thank_ a servant for doing her job?"

"Thomas!" the Countess hissed, catching the tail end of the boys' conversation. The boy whined when his mother pinched his chubby arm, and only pouted further when she gave him a look of warning. Satisfied that her point had been made, she turned her eyes, once more, to the Earl. "Victor, really, do you not at least think it would be a good idea to go to court, _now_?"

The Earl raised his other eyebrow. "Why now, exactly?"

The Countess' patience was waning thin. "Why…because you are newly married! I mean, don't you think _I_ should be presented to the royal court? As the new Countess of Ravenskeep?" she asked, putting on one of her sweetest smiles.

"Ah, I see," the Earl chuckled. "So that's the reason to why you're so keen?" he frowned slightly, feeling a sharp pain throb within his left arm. Ever since he had woken up, his arm had been bothering him…

The Countess' face burned brightly at her husband's accusation. "W-well…I mean…" she looked at her son and pointed directly to him. "Thomas has indicated that he is most eager to see more of this region of the country! Is that not right, dear?"

The boy's reply was a simple glare.

The Countess ignored him. "And from what I understand…the Queen is with child again! Yes, in fact, the news reached my ears right before we left the coast. There is to be a celebration in honor of the child, from what I understand. Oh please, Victor, can we not at least go to attend the celebration?"

The Earl eyed his wife for a long moment, before turning his gaze to Erik, who had been watching this whole conversation in silence. "What do you think, son? Would you like to the go the palace? After all, it is your birthday," he grinned.

Erik's small face lit up with a large smile at his father's words. "Really? Can we ride our horses there?" he asked, beaming all the more at the thought.

The Earl laughed, before reaching out and rumpling the hair atop his son's head. "Of course, son. I'll call for Duncan to get us some saddles." With that said, the Earl rose from his chair and went in search of his steward.

The Countess also rose from her chair, although her eyes glanced over at the smiling disfigured boy to whom her husband had just promised to take to the palace. She did not miss that it was _the boy_ who won them their trip, and not her pleading.

"Victor?" she called out, quickly following her husband down the hallway.

The Earl, who was rubbing his arm as he walked, stopped and lifted a curious brow at his wife's call. "I thought you would be rushing to your chambers to change into riding clothes?"

The Countess held back her indignant gasp; ladies of her station rode in carriages, not atop horses! "Victor, I just…forgive me, but…do you think it's wise?"

The Earl's brow furrowed with confusion. "Wise?"

The Countess rolled her eyes. "Yes, do you think it's wise…that…well, that we take Erik to court?"

The Earl's brow still remained creased with confusion, however those that knew him well could see that he was struggling to control his temper. "What do you mean?"

The Countess had not known the Earl for that long…yet she could tell that she was treading on dangerous ground. "Victor, the boy is wonderful, anyone can see that—"

"Exactly," the Earl cut in, not wanting to have this conversation. "Go change into some riding clothes, Dominique. We will leave within the next half-hour."

The Countess stared at her husband's retreating back with wide eyes. Was he dismissing her!? "Victor!" she picked up her skirts and followed him at a quick pace; he was moving with thunderous strides. "Victor, be reasonable!" she hissed. "Erik is not like other people! He—"

"No, he's _better_," the Earl growled, rounding on the Countess with sudden speed, that if she had not been paying attention, she would have run into him. "Hear me now, Dominique, and let this be the end of the subject. Erik is my son, and if I wish to take him somewhere, then I will. If he wishes to go to someplace or see something, then I will make sure that he can. And if _anyone_, does not think he is good enough, simply because of how he looks…then they are ignorant fools and I do not waste my time dealing with such idiots," he spat with great venom. "Now…if you truly wish to go to court, as you were begging me earlier…then you best go and change into some riding clothes, instead of standing here and talking about such nonsense…or you can simply stay behind, while I take Erik to the palace."

The Countess stared at her husband with wide, disbelieving eyes, as the man turned on his heel, and went in search of his steward to fetch their horses, rubbing his left arm as he went.

When she had met Victor Delahoussaye, she was sure that she had easily won his heart with her dazzling smiles, batting eyes, and charming graces. When she learned he was a widower, she thought it would be easy to win him over, thinking that a man in his sad state was longing for a companion.

She had not considered the dilemma of having to fight for his affection…over his own son!

"My lord! My lord!"

The Countess lifted her head, as Celeste came running down the hallway, looking for the Earl. The Earl emerged at the opposite end of the hallway, and the Countess strained her neck, in order to catch the desperate conversation that was coming from the servant woman.

"He says there are problems! That you must come quickly!" Celeste rambled, gasping here and there between her words.

The Earl frowned and moved past Celeste into the front garden, where a bald man, with a large gold earring, sat atop a giant, black horse. "Ah, I'm glad I was able to find you Victor," the man greeted. "Come, there is not a moment to lose; you must mount your horse right away! We are needed at the port!"

The Earl looked confused. "Captain Conrad, what on earth are you talking about!? I just returned home, yesterday! My wife and her son are just getting settled—"

"I know, I know," the bald-headed man muttered, his eyes moving to the Countess who was now standing in the doorway of the house. "And I'm sorry to intrude on your honeymoon, my lord, but time is of the essence."

"What on earth are you talking about?" the Earl asked, his tone growing more and more exasperated. The pain that he had been feeling in his arm began to grow worse…

Erik and Thomas had heard the shouts, and the two of them came rushing out into the garden to see what the commotion was about. Erik bit his lip, as he looked up into the black eyes of Captain Conrad, his father's business partner. Erik had never seen a shark, but the man certainly reminded him of one, based on all the descriptions he had heard.

Captain Conrad's eyes glittered as he caught sight of the Earl's son. He had met the boy on a few occasions, and noticed how the lad had doubled in size since he last saw him.

"Conrad!" the Earl growled. "What is so important that I must be torn away from my family after just arriving at home!?"

Celeste and Duncan stood nearby and eyed the suspicious shipman. "I told you that he would try to steal the master away as soon as he could," she hissed to her husband.

"A ship of ours, returning from the East, has sunk, just off the African coast. I received word about this disaster the day after you left the port, and traveled here with great haste."

The Earl's eyes went wide at Captain Conrad's tale. "Good God…what about the crew?"

"The crew are fine, from what I understand," Captain Conrad explained. They all managed to leap off the ship and swim to safety, before the jagged rocks claimed the ship itself. But the supplies, Victor, they are all lost!"

The Earl was trying to concentrate on the man's words, but the pain in his arm had grown so intense, that he could barely feel his arm at all. "W-what…what supplies, exactly?" he asked, through clenched teeth.

"Spices from India, tea from the Orient, not to mention expensive fabrics and gemstones," Captain Conrad muttered.

The Earl tried to calculate the damages in his mind. "What happened? Was there a storm? Why were they sailing so close to the coast?"

Captain Conrad looked down at the ground, but said nothing. Erik thought the man looked guilty.

The Earl also shared his son's thoughts, for he spoke with a growl. "Why were they sailing so close to the coast?"

"My lord—"

"ANSWER MY QUESTION, CONRAD!"

Captain Conrad was taken aback by the Earl's roar, but his black, beady eyes, simply met the Earl's in a ferocious glare. "Business is business, my lord. You asked me to join you in this venture to—"

"The selling of human beings is NOT my business!" the Earl shouted. "I told you I wanted NOTHING to do with the African slave trade! No ship that bears MY name will have ANYTHING to do with that disgusting practice, you understand!?"

"My lord, no other shipping business in all of Eastergard participates in slave trading, and have we learned nothing from our fellow neighbors? Spain and Portugal have made vast amounts of money—"

"_BLOOD_ MONEY, CONRAD!" the Earl roared. "Let the rest of the world damn itself to hell, if it wishes! Eastergard will not participate in that hellish practice, and I will certainly not start it!"

"But my lord, be reasonable—"

"Damn it, Conrad, I SAID NO! And I…I…" the Earl clutched at his left arm, and then his hand went to his chest. Erik's eyes widened with horror as he watched his father's face pale until it was as white as a sheet.

"Master!?" Celeste gasped, rushing up to the Earl's side. "Duncan! Quick! Fetch a doctor!"

"PAPA!" Erik cried, when his father fell to his knees, still clutching at his chest, his breathing becoming shorter and raspier. Erik rushed to his father's other side, his arms wrapping around his father's head as the man gasped for every painful breath.

Captain Conrad stared at the fallen man, his own face pale, and he lifted his eyes to the Countess, whose hand was covering her mouth, as she stared down at her fading husband.

"Papa! Papa, get up! Get up!" Erik pleaded, his hands gripping the edges of his father's tunic.

The Countess seemed to have recovered from her momentary stupor, and she rushed to where Erik knelt, pushed the boy out of the way, until she was leaning over her husband. "Victor!" she gasped. "Victor! Come, you must get up on your feet! We have to get to the palace! You have to present me to court!"

Erik crawled over to where Celeste knelt, and gazed down at his father with tear-filled eyes, murmuring his name over and over.

The Earl glanced at the Countess, before moving his eyes to his son's face, before lifting a weak hand to touch one of Erik's scarred cheeks. "I…I…I l-love you…" he gasped, through raspy breaths. "I…I…w-w-will…w-w-will b-be with you…always…"

Erik bit his lip, and clutched at his father's tunic all the tighter. "I love you too, Papa," he sobbed, wrapping his arms around his father's head. "Please, Papa…please don't go! Please don't leave me!"

"Love…you…Erik…" the Earl whispered, before closing his eyes, and letting his head roll back, his entire body going motionless.

The Countess stared at her dead husband in utter horror. She looked at Erik, whose face was buried against his father's chest, and then back at the still, pale face of her husband. Where was her message of goodbye? Where were her words of love and affection? He brought her to this place…and now he was leaving her!? Just like that!? "VICTOR!" she screeched. "VICTOR YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" she screamed, before sobbing hysterically.

More servants poured out into the garden, staring with wide, sad eyes, as they looked upon the awful sight. Julia stumbled towards her father, and buried her face against his stomach, as Celeste rose and leaned her head against his shoulder. All the servants crossed themselves and murmured a prayer of mourning for their dead master.

Thomas stood nearby, staring with mute disbelief at everything that had transpired.

Captain Conrad still remained atop his horse, his eyes wide with shock…but a slow, evil smile, beginning to spread across his lips.

The Countess was rocking back and forth, her face buried within her hands, as angry curses escaped her throat every so often, between her hysterical sobs.

And Erik still clung to his father, crying for him to return, praying with all his might that at any second, he would feel his father's strong arms wrap around him and hold him close.

But it was not so. On a day meant for celebration, on his tenth birthday, Erik Delahoussaye became an orphan.

And although he did not know it yet…he had also become a slave.


	3. Nighttime Travelers

**Hi everyone!** I'm so excited about the reception this story is receiving! It has been a lot of fun, planning and plotting out this story, and I have high hopes for it, so I hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks so much for all the wonderful and encouraging remarks! They are truly inspirational.

* * *

**Summary:** Twenty years have past since the Earl's death...and things have not been well for Erik. 

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_Nighttime Travelers_**

_20 years later…_

A black carriage slowly came to a stop, just outside a seedy looking tavern, at the heart of Eastergard's only port city. Overhead, the night sky grumbled with thunder, as lightning danced from cloud to cloud. There was a chill in the autumn air, as the promise of a storm was carried upon the wind.

The driver of the carriage leapt down to his feet, and he quickly opened the door, allowing the carriage's occupant to climb down. The passenger was wearing a black hooded cloak, pulled up tight so none could see their face. Without a word to the carriage driver, the passenger entered the tavern, ignoring the drunken laughter of its customers and prostitutes, moving past the card tables, until it reached a small door, hidden in the back. The hooded figure glanced at a nearby barmaid, who simply nodded her head, before the figure disappeared through the door.

Voices could be heard within the shadows, just beyond the small door. Several men were sitting in a small, dark room, each drinking a tankard of ale, while a bald-headed man, with one large, gold earring, sat at a table, writing down the information they were giving him.

"How much did last month's shipment make?" he asked.

"Twelve percent more than this month's," muttered one of the men.

"It's the damn king's laws!" muttered another, slamming his tankard down onto the table. "It's bad enough that our country has only one seaport; now he's making it near impossible to trade! Just this past week, I had to deal with several of his soldiers, who wanted to see our ship's inventory."

"It's not really the King's fault," hiccupped a different man. "It's that son of his, Prince Fredrick; he's taken it upon himself to keep close watch on all that comes in and out on Eastergard's ships."

"It doesn't matter who's to blame," the bald-headed man grumbled. "The point is we can't depend on sea trade to be the only thing that brings in money."

"Maybe we should 'up the stakes' with The Monster?"

"Exactly! I know some men who are willing to put one of their own fighters against—"

The bald-headed man's hand clutched at the other man's shoulder, which quickly silenced him. The other men lifted their heads in the direction the bald-headed man was looking…and realized, much to their surprise, that they were no longer alone.

"Here now!" one of the men growled, rising to his feet, despite his drunken state. "Who are you and what are you—"

"LEAVE US!" the bald-headed man roared, his eyes glaring into those of all the men who were surrounding him.

"But Conrad—"

"I said," the bald-headed man growled in a voice so deep, the ground beneath their feet seemed to shake. "Leave us."

"Alright, alright, we're leaving!" one of the men muttered, as they all filed out, leaving the hooded figure, and the bald-headed man in peace.

Only when the last of them had left, and the door was shut, did the figure push back her hood.

"Countess Montero," the bald-headed man greeted with the hint of an evil smile.

"Captain Conrad," the Countess replied, her voice and features as cold as ice. "And please, it's _Delahoussaye_," she reminded him. "I am, after all, a widow."

_Black Widow is more like it_, Captain Conrad thought, but he chose to keep his comments to himself. "I received your letter only yesterday; had I known that you would be arriving this evening, I would have made sure my…_business meetings_…were finished well beforehand."

The Countess glanced over her shoulder at the door the other men had just gone through. "From the sound of things, it does not appear that business is going very well…"

Captain Conrad took a long swig from his stein, before answering her question. "Apparently Prince Fredrick shares the same views as my former partner, and your late husband, when it comes to issues of slavery," he grumbled, however an evil smile lifted at the corners of his mouth. "But we get by."

"I'm sure you do," the Countess muttered.

Captain Conrad gazed at the woman before him, his eyes running over her approvingly. She had aged well; her strawberry-blonde hair was light enough that one could not see the gray that was developing. Her skin still looked young and smooth, although he assumed that was mainly brought on by the heavy use of creams, perfumes, and other cosmetics. Her figure was still appealing, with a small waist, lush hips, and full breasts. Indeed, Captain Conrad had admired the Countess for many years…and he never stopped hoping that the two of them could come to a more…_personal_…business arrangement.

"I beg your pardon," he murmured at last, finally lifting his eyes back to hers. "I seem to have forgotten my manners; would you care for a drink?"

The Countess rolled her eyes; as far as she was concerned, Captain Conrad had no manners. "I do not have time to drink—"

"Everyone has time for a drink," he went on, ignoring her words and pouring her a pint of ale from one of the tavern's large barrels, just behind him, before refilling his own stein.

"Captain Conrad," the Countess growled through clipped lips. "Word has reached me that you still _have_ my stepson."

The bald-headed captain didn't bother looking up at her to answer her question. "Is that a problem, milady?"

"You know it is!" she snarled, her hands forming into fists and crashing down upon the table before him, her green eyes blazing with anger. "The last time I saw Erik he was nearly the size of a tree! And just as thick as its trunk!"

Captain Conrad couldn't help but chuckle. "You should see him now…he's twice that."

"My point exactly," the Countess groaned. "I haven't forgotten the insolence that boy left in my household; I know how strong he can be, and he has enough rage to fuel him!"

"Now whose fault is that?" Captain Conrad sighed, before sitting back in his chair and propping his legs up onto the table. "I certainly didn't plant that rage within him."

"You certainly haven't done anything to quell it, either!" the Countess snapped. "We had a deal, Conrad! You promised me he would be shipped to the colonies with all your other slaves before he turned 30! But if memory serves…his 30th birthday was six months ago!"

"Eight, actually," the captain corrected, a lazy smile falling across his face. "Have you so little faith in me, milady? I keep him chained when he is not working, and when he works, I have my best men keep watch over him; they have swords, clubs, and whips. What does he have? Just his fists," he laughed.

The Countess, however, was not so easily soothed by Captain Conrad's confidence. "You were not there when he tried to kill my son, Captain," she growled.

Captain Conrad let out a bark of laughter. "Kill? Oh come now, Countess, the boy was simply…_roughhousing_."

"He had his hands around Thomas' neck!" the Countess hissed, her eyes like daggers as they glared into the captain's. "He was trying to strangle my son! And I sold him to you, believing that you would _take care_ of him for me!"

"And that's what I have been doing all these years, milady," Captain Conrad defended, putting on an innocent look. "I took dear Erik off your hands 15 years ago, and put him to work in my shipping yard."

The Countess only sneered. "That wasn't exactly the 'care' I had in mind when I sold him to you."

"Perhaps not," Captain Conrad sighed, before taking another drink from his stein. "But I also saw potential in the boy; and he is built for hard labor, surely you can understand that? Besides…" Captain Conrad murmured, his eyes never leaving those of the Countess, as he gazed at her over the rim of his stein. "I would be a fool to get rid of him now, especially when he still serves my purpose…"

The Countess eyed the bald-headed man suspiciously. "Was that what your 'business partners' were referring to just now?"

Captain Conrad only chuckled before finishing his drink. "I told you that despite the Prince's enforcement of the King's law…we get by."

The Countess lifted a haughty brow at the man's words, before lifting the hood of her cloak once more over her head. "I want to see him."

It was now the captain's turn to be thrown off guard. "See him?" he practically choked on the last of his ale. "Whatever for?"

"I want you to prove to me that he is no longer a threat, that his spirit has indeed been broken, just as you promised you would do, when you took him all those years ago."

Captain Conrad eyed the woman before him, before slowly rising to his feet. "Slavery always breaks a man's spirit…and that is what he is; a slave, or more specifically, _my_ slave, with whom I can use for whatever I wish."

"True," the Countess murmured in a mocking sweet tone. "But he is still my stepson…and my dear Victor would want me to check in on him, now and again."

The captain folded his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving the cold gaze of the Countess…before finally nodding his head in agreement. "Very well, I will take you to him, if that is your wish."

"It is," the Countess snapped. "As well as to see him far from Eastergard's shores."

"One promise at a time, milady," Captain Conrad smiled, before opening the door for her.

* * *

It was Hell. Anyone would think that, upon seeing the place. 

Captain Conrad's shipping yard was one of the largest in the entire port, and yet despite it's size, it kept its distance from the other shipping yards. Captain Conrad preferred this, as he did not want any stranger poking their head around, and the villagers did not mind, for they were extremely wary of the bald-headed captain. It was no secret, how Captain Conrad made his money, but all of them knew that if they dared to say anything about it…he would unleash his "weapon" upon them. And for those few who had seen the beast, they claimed they would rather face the King's entire army, than have to spend one night with the creature in his pit.

The "pit" was a deep, underground level, just inside the captain's storehouse. The upper level was filled with crates upon crates of goods that Captain Conrad's ships used to trade, as well as goods they had brought back. Yet ironically, the storehouse was not intended for this purpose. For in a far corner of the storehouse, was a hidden door, in the floorboards. And upon opening that door, and descending down the ladder within…one would soon realize that they had found an entrance into Hell.

If not for the torches that lined the underground walls, the pit would have been pitch black. Empty shackles hung from the walls, and old bloodstains spattered the ground beneath them. In the distance, tortured screams could be heard echoing throughout the twisting tunnels as Captain Conrad's men "disciplined" several unruly servants. The air was pungent with the stench of blood and urine, and in several dark corners, where the torches failed to illuminate, the odor of rotting flesh perfumed the air. Rats, mice, and every kind of creeping insect one could imagine, scampered and crawled across the stone floor, some gnawing on old bones that littered the ground, here and there.

Yes, few people would argue that this place was Hell itself, and many in the village believed that the giant, dark, disfigured creature that lived there, was none other than The Beast.

Captain Conrad held his torch high, as he illuminated the pathway for the Countess. He could not help but confess his amazement with the woman; one minute she would be swooning at something shocking, pretending to be a delicate flower, and the next…she would enter a place like this, willingly, and march through the muck and grime as if she had always done so. Perhaps that explained his attraction for the woman? She was a complete mystery. It also explained his extreme distrust of her; she was obviously more than what she seemed.

He finally came to a stop, and simply pointed ahead of him, towards a dark corner. The Countess said nothing; she simply took the torch out of Captain Conrad's hands, and quietly approached the dark abyss.

Slowly, the light from the torch began to reveal that there was something in the corner, something hunched over, something breathing…and something quite large.

The creature wore nothing, save for a tattered pair of breeches, made out of burlap. His feet were bare and dirty, and there were signs of rat bites upon the toes. His broad, muscular back was also bare, and in the way he was hunched over, one could see all the lash marks that had been inflicted, throughout the years. His powerful arms were shackled and chained to the walls behind him, as were his legs. There also seemed to be a shackle about his neck, which no doubt was the cause for his raspy breathing. The only thing that the Countess could not see…was his face. His head was covered by a burlap sack, which contained two slits for his eyes, as well as one for his mouth. There were also two "horn-like" spikes, sticking out of the sack; Captain Conrad obviously had a twisted sense of humor.

The huddled creature did turn his head slightly when the light fell upon him, and the rasping way he breathed began to deepen, until it was a dangerous growl. The Countess gazed down at the creature, before placing the torch in an empty sconce, and kneeling down, until she was at eye-level with the beast.

"Hello, Erik."

Another growl escaped the burlap sack. "Dominique…"

Without warning, the Countess took hold of the burlap sack and lifted it away, until Erik's head was freed for her viewing. His black hair was long and shaggy, and limply hung about his face, curtaining his disfigured features from her view. Few would be brave enough to do what she did next, which was cup her hand beneath his chin, and lift his head until his eyes were at level with hers. "It's been some time, has it not?"

Erik said nothing, he simply snarled at her and attempted to lash out, however the shackles kept him in place.

The Countess didn't even flinch. "I see you still have your temper," she muttered, removing her hand.

"These shackles are the only thing that's keeping me from killing you," he growled, his dark eyes burning gold in the firelight.

The Countess clucked her tongue. "My, my, it's hard to believe that once upon a time, you rushed towards me, covered in mud and holding a fistful of flowers, welcoming me into your home and fully prepared to call me 'mother'. Whatever happened to that sweet, obedient, kind-hearted boy?"

"He died," Erik growled. "He died alongside my father…or perhaps he died when _you_ entered my father's house?" he tested the bonds of his shackles, paying no heed to the blood that was dripping down his arms.

The Countess rolled her eyes. "I see; you still blame me for your father's death?"

"I KNOW YOU TRICKED HIM!" he roared, attempting to lash out once again, but the shackles still held him firmly in place. A dark, satisfied smile lifted at the corners of Erik's mouth; he had managed to catch the Countess off guard. "You tricked him somehow into marrying you. If my father had lived, he would have seen you for what you truly are…"

The Countess glared at her stepson, before rising once more to her feet and smoothing her hands about her dress, trying once more to regain her composure. "And what am I, Erik?"

"The Devil's handmaiden," he growled, his eyes never leaving hers. "The serpent who slithered out of the Garden of Eden, and who managed to poison my father with your pretty smiles and cold caresses. Had he lived, he would have spotted you for the vile witch that you are…and seen to it that you and that pig you call a son, were left rotting by the side of the road."

The Countess arched a painted brow at her stepson's words. "You call me a serpent? With that venomous tongue?" she sighed and shook her head before once more, kneeling before him. "And I had come all this way to make peace with you."

Erik glared at her, his hatred for the woman rising with every passing second. "I'm not interested in peace…and certainly not with you," he snarled.

The Countess, however, smiled coldly at him. "That is a shame," she sighed. "I mean, don't you find all this blind fury and hatred exhausting?"

Erik tested his bonds once more. "Sometimes it's the only thing that fuels me."

"Yes, I gathered that," she grumbled. "I mean, really Erik. To think this all began with a simple misunderstanding! Thomas was not going to hurt your little friend—"

Rage flooded Erik then. "He tried to _RAPE_ Julia!" he roared. The nightmarish image of seeing Thomas, pinning poor Julia down upon his bed, as he attempted to loosen his trousers while she screamed for mercy, before being slapped several times by her attacker, made Erik's blood turn to ice. He was fifteen at the time, and had been reduced to working as a slave, alongside the other servants. He didn't know who he hated more, Dominique or Thomas? They were both vile and cruel, and the only reason he did not lash out at them before was because he feared for the safety of his friends, especially Julia, who Thomas leered at from afar. However, that day when he heard Julia's screams, Erik could not hold back his rage any longer. He attacked Thomas with a furious passion that even shocked him. One minute he had his hands around Thomas' neck and was squeezing the life out of him…the next, he felt a heavy pain strike the back of his head, and he was knocked unconscious. He would later awake to find himself inside this hellhole, and learn that Dominique had sold him to Captain Conrad, the only other person Erik despised as much as the Countess and her son.

The Countess rolled her eyes at Erik's accusation. "Do not flatter your friend," she spat. "Thomas was simply having a bit of fun, that's all."

"Fine," Erik growled, his voice deeper than ever. "Then _I_ was only having a bit of fun…with trying to kill him."

The Countess' anger was beginning to show. "For someone who _failed_ at his original intentions, you sound awfully proud of yourself," she growled back.

It was Erik's turn to smile. "I may have failed then…but that doesn't mean I'll fail the next time—"

"There won't BE a next time!" the Countess shouted, surging to her feet, her voice filling the tunnels far beyond. "And you can wipe that smile off your face," she spat with disgust. "Captain Conrad and I have come to a new arrangement," she snarled. "You are to be shipped on the next boat to the colonies, and all your hopes of ever seeing your precious friends, or Ravenskeep, will be a distant memory!"

Despite the Countess' threat, Erik only squared his shoulders and glared right back at her. Captain Conrad was an evil, cruel taskmaster, but the man was not an idiot. And Erik knew that the captain depended upon him to make money, when trading could not.

"Is that why you traveled all this way?" he asked, glaring up at her. "To take joy in telling me that I will join Conrad's slaves in the New World?"

The Countess eyed him, before reaching inside her cloak and withdrawing a black object. "Actually…no," she murmured. "I do take joy in being rid of you, once and for all, that I cannot deny, but I actually came…well, how can I put this? I came to wish you a happy birthday, my dear stepson," she purred sweetly.

Erik stared up at her, his dark eyes lit with confusion. The Countess did make it a habit to come and visit him on his birthday, or as he thought of it, the anniversary of when his life had gone to hell.

His tenth birthday had been the day his father had died, and it had been the day the Countess revealed her true colors. Several days after his father's death, the Countess made it clear that the sight of his disfigured face disgusted her, and she ordered him to eat all his meals with the servants. Erik had been more hurt by her words, than angered by them. Truth be told, he preferred sharing his meals with Duncan, Celeste, and Julia; they treated him more like family than his own stepmother and stepbrother did. However, that was just the beginning. Dominique and Thomas soon took over the entire house, changing things to suit _them_, including Thomas taking Erik's bedroom, and forcing Erik to sleep in the servant's quarters. Erik attempted to protest, but he was severely beaten for his insolence, as the Countess had called it, and soon after, he became one of the servants.

It was also when Captain Conrad returned to Ravenskeep, for the first time since the Earl's death. According to the bald-headed villain, Erik's father had left many large debts, and the captain insisted that he be paid. The Countess then released a large number of the servants, using their wages to pay off the Earl's so-called debt, leaving only Duncan, Celeste, and Julia behind. Erik was grateful that they had at least been spared, but he soon came to realize that the Countess knew how much it meant to him, to have them there; she often threatened to throw his adopted family out onto the streets, or sell them off to Captain Conrad himself, if he did not do as she ordered. And so, he became a slave for his stepmother and stepbrother, doing impossible chores, working in the hot, searing summer sun, and the cold, bitter winter snows, working when it rained, working when it stormed, and when he did not work as quickly as he had been ordered, or as quickly as they believed he should be working…then he was beaten. And sadly, that was all too often.

After the incident with Julia, Erik was taken off the Countess' hands, and to this day, he did not know what was worse; working for the Countess and her greedy son, or working for Captain Conrad and his goons. Both were cruel taskmasters with a taste for blood, and both he longed to see dead.

"My birthday was eight months ago," Erik growled, his eyes narrowing at her and the object she held in her hands. What was she up to?

"I know," the Countess sighed. "But you did turn 30, which is a significant age in any man's life, so I felt it important that I come, and that I bring you a special gift," she murmured, indicating the object she was holding in her hands. "No doubt you were wondering what had happened to me?"

"I had rather hoped you were dead," he grunted.

The Countess continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "These past fifteen years I have not missed one birthday…but…recently, I've had my hands tied," she explained, a smile lifting at the corners of her mouth.

Erik felt his blood run cold at the way she smiled. She was _definitely_ up to something…

"Princess Christine is going to marry soon," the Countess sighed. "And I have been quite busy with helping Thomas win her hand."

Erik knew very little about Eastergard's royal family, but he couldn't help but laugh at the Countess' words. "So that's it, is it? Marrying an earl and becoming a countess has now lost its appeal? You're hoping to see your own son near the throne…if not on it," he spat. "Well you have your work cut out for you; it will take a great deal, to have the Princess accept a talking pig as her husband, let alone look at one—"

"INSOLENT BEAST!" the Countess screeched, before backhanding Erik across the face. The slap stung, but it by no means broke his spirit.

"Just you wait," she hissed. "Thomas will be a prince! And if you thought your life was hell before—"

"Ah, but I thought I was going to be shipped to the colonies?"

The Countess was fuming. "IT WILL BE HELL _WHEREVER_ YOU GO!" she shouted, before reaching out and grabbing Erik by his hair and forcing his head back, as she leaned down and spat in his face. "I'll see to that, _personally_," she growled, with venomous promise.

She released his head, and Erik growled back at her, before once more testing the bonds of his chains, yearning to wrap his fingers around her own head, and break her neck as if it were a twig.

"CONRAD!" she shouted, glaring down at her stepson with pure disgust and hatred. The captain appeared at her side then, from the shadows just behind her. "I'm leaving," she hissed, before fixing the hood on her cloak. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached down, grabbed a hold of the burlap sack, and forced it once more over his head. "Cover your hideous face, it disgusts me!" she spat, before throwing the object she had been holding, down upon the moldy pile of straw that made for Erik's bed. "Happy birthday," she snarled, before turning on her heel and leaving, Captain Conrad taking the torch she had been holding earlier, and leading her out.

Erik watched with narrow eyes as the woman he hated disappeared around the corner, the light going with her. However, before the light was completely gone, he had been able to make out the dark object that she had thrown down beside him.

A mask.

* * *

King Leonard V of Eastergard was pacing the parlor of his chambers, his arms clasped firmly behind his back, his blue robe swishing about his feet, as he walked up and down the parlor, muttering to himself. Instead of a crown, he wore a nightcap. 

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and the King lifted his head, before thundering a loud, "ENTER!"

A guard opened the door, revealing a tall, dark-haired man, with handsome features and striking blue eyes, also wearing a robe similar to that of the King's, save that his was a deep shade of purple. The man took a deep breath, before fully entering the parlor, his eyes looking tired and his brown hair somewhat disheveled. "Father…it must be 2 or 3 in the morning, why on earth are you awake, and more importantly, why have you summoned me?"

The King looked up at his son and his eyes narrowed into two dark blue slits. "We need to talk about your sister," he growled.

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Now, Father? Is this really necessary—"

"This is serious, Fredrick! Wars have started over things like this!"

Prince Fredrick sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying his hardest to wipe the sleep from his eyes. "Roanland is not going to start a war with us in the middle of the night, and besides, they have been our allies for the past fifty years; Mother was the King's cousin for heaven's sake!"

"Yes…and the King of Roanland is most displeased with the way your sister has been responding, or should I say, _lack_ of responding, to Prince Raoul's letters!" King Leonard muttered, before thrusting the latest letter he had received from Roanland into his son's face.

Fredrick took the letter from his father and carefully read it, wincing now and then as he came across the King of Roanland's negative remarks on how ill-behaved the princess was being, and how shocked and appalled he was to see that the King of Eastergard could not control his own daughter, which led him to suspect how well he could control his own country? No, it was not a good letter at all.

"Where is she!?" the King demanded, his eyes flying to those of his son's.

Fredrick was taken aback by his father's bark. "Who?"

"CHRISTINE!" the King all but exploded, his face turning redder than a tomato.

"It's the middle of the night, Father, I would assume she's in bed."

The King nodded his head at this, and then moved to push past his son and throw open the parlor door.

"Wait!" Fredrick cried, getting between his father and the door.

"Out of my way, boy. You're not king yet!"

Fredrick ignored his father's comment. "What are you intending to do?"

"Pound some sense into her, if I must!" the King barked, attempting once more to move past his son.

"Father, can't this wait till morning?" the Prince tried to reason once more.

"Ha!" the King scoffed. "By then she'll have time to plan! Best to catch her off guard—"

"Father, she's not an enemy we're at war with! You speak of her as if she draws up battle plans and makes secret maneuvers—"

"She's your _sister_!" the King reminded him. "And she _does_ do all those things! Now, if you don't move out of my way, I'll have the guards remove you for me!" he threatened.

Fredrick folded his arms across his chest and glared back at the old man before him. "What good will threatening do? What good will talking about this _now_, at all times, do?"

The King paused and seemed to consider his son's words. "It will make me feel much better," he grumbled, before attempting to push past his son once more.

However, before Fredrick could block his father, or before the King had the opportunity to wrestle his son away from the door, a loud, desperate-sounding knock, was heard against the chamber door. Both Fredrick and Leonard looked at one another with confusion, before saying at the same time, "Yes?"

"Fredrick? Your Majesty?"

Without waiting for the guards to open the door, Fredrick grabbed hold of the handle and threw it open, to see the pale and worried face of his wife. "Meg? What's wrong?" he took the Princess' hands in his and drew close to her side, his own face paling with worry. "It's not the baby, is it?" he looked down at his wife's swollen belly, his hand protectively resting upon it.

"No, no, I'm fine," Princess Marguerite reassured, touched by her husband's concern. However her eyes turned to those of the King, and Leonard's jaw clenched at the way she looked at him. "After you summoned Fredrick to your chamber, Your Majesty, I happened to glance out our bedchamber window, and noticed…" she bit her lip, glancing at Fredrick, before continuing. "Something rather…strange…"

"Strange?" Fredrick asked, his brow creasing with confusion. The King, however, was beginning to shake…

"Yes," the Princess continued. "And upon peering closer, I realized that…that it was several bed sheets…strung together…"

Without another word, the King grabbed a hold of the door and swung it open with a loud bang, before moving as quickly as his old legs would allow, along the corridor, up the steps, until he reached the south wing of the castle…and without even bothering to knock on her door, he burst into his daughter's bedchamber.

King Leonard surveyed the dark room, before noticing, just as his daughter-in-law had indicated, an open window, near Christine's bed…and a sheet, clearly tied to the railing of her balcony.

Fredrick stumbled into the chamber, just after his father, his wife close behind. He moved past the King, to peer over the side of balcony, his eyes growing wide as he realized just how long the rope of sheets was…and how far down his sister must have climbed!

"Oh dear," Meg murmured, her face creasing with worry as she surveyed the room. "Not again…"

The King straightened his shoulders, his face red and fuming, before turning on his heel and marching out of the chamber, roaring at the top of his lungs. "SOUND THE ALARM! CALL OUT THE GUARDS! BRING HER BACK AT ONCE!"

A loud, high-pitched bell was being rung throughout the palace, the sound so shrill it could be heard for miles around, even within the forest…where a lone rider dug her heels into the flanks of her horse, as she spurred the beast onward, heading south at all speed, towards Eastergard's single, lonely seaport.


	4. Fighting to Survive

Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in updates; things are starting to get a little hectic at work, fanfic has been acting weird when I've been trying to upload stuff, but thanks to all of you who have been reading and reviewing this story! I'm very happy so many are enjoying it, and I hope you continue to do so! Also, just so you're aware, I am going to change the rating to "M". Thanks again, and enjoy the next installment to the _**Mask and Slipper**_ saga!

* * *

**Summary: **Erik "earns his keep" for the vile Captain Conrad, but manages to turn the tables on the villain. Also, a chance encounter in a nearby forest... 

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_Fighting to Survive_**

The burlap sack was his only refuge, the closest thing he had to a sanctuary. He hated it, truly; Conrad's men had twisted it and torn it, until it looked like the mask of a demon, but in its darkness, he found solitude and peace.

Yet the peace was always momentary...

"CONRAD! CONRAD! CONRAD!"

From the bowels of Hell, in which he lived, Erik could hear them. They were hateful, greedy cries, cheers for blood and death…yet they were not unfamiliar to him.

Footsteps approached, and Erik growled as he felt a stick dig into his side. "On your feet, monster!" shouted one of Conrad's many goons. When Erik did not respond, the imbecile dug his stick even further. "I said UP!" he barked.

Erik lifted his head and snarled at the man, warning him to back away, or else he would feel the edge of his stick imbedded deeply within his own flesh. All of Conrad's men were cowards; they always came at him with sticks and clubs and rocks, never with their own fists.

The man did indeed back away from Erik, but only long enough to bark an order to several unseen friends, who quickly appeared at his side, each holding their own weapon, each trying to look tougher and braver than they truly were. Erik simply growled, and beneath his burlap mask, rolled his eyes at the stupidity of it all.

One man approached, holding a torch and threatening to burn Erik's flesh if he did not do as his friend had ordered, and rise to his feet. "Get up! NOW!"

"No," Erik simply growled.

He could not see the man's face very well through the burlap, but he could tell that the man was stunned by his disobedience. He didn't know why it still surprised them that he didn't obey their orders; he had always been like that.

The man squared his shoulders, and pushed the torch even closer to Erik's covered face. "I'm warning you, monster…"

Erik lifted his head slightly, in the direction of the man with the torch. He was still chained, yet the man was leaning close enough…

"I SAID GET UP! THIS IS YOUR _LAST_ WARNING!"

"No, this, is _MY_ last warning," Erik hissed, as without warning, he lurched forward, grabbing the fist of the man holding the torch with his own, and twisting it just so, until the fire from the torch burnt his captor's arm.

"AHHHHHH!" the other man painfully screamed, while trying to wrestle his arm free as the fire began to burn through his sleeve and blister his arm. "GET HIM! GET HIM OFF ME!" he shouted to the others, but they all stood around, speechless and surprised by Erik's sudden movement.

The torch fell to the ground, and Erik let out a deep grunt of pain, as the air around him was interrupted by the nasty sound of a whip, striking its mark. The other men turned, startled by the whip…and the sudden arrival of their boss.

"Good Lord…" Conrad groaned with a roll of his eyes, as he took in the sight before him, while slowly wrapping his whip around his forearm. "It shouldn't take half a dozen men to simply drag away one prisoner…"

The man who had been holding the torch, rushed towards the captain, cradling his burnt arm against his chest. "He burned me!" the man whimpered, showing his blistered flesh. "The bastard burned me!"

"Shut up," Conrad muttered, pushing his way past the man, his eyes fixed on Erik's covered face. "Get on your feet. You've got a crowd waiting for you."

Erik snarled and fixed his hidden gaze upon his captor. "No."

"See, Captain?" one of the men growled. "He's causing trouble!"

"He's always causing trouble," Conrad groaned, before turning his attention once more upon Erik. "You will get up, and you will go out there, and you will fight…just like you always do."

"CONRAD! CONRAD! CONRAD!" The distant shouts were growing louder and louder.

"If I refuse?" Erik asked, his voice low and deep and full of venom.

Captain Conrad simply chuckled, before unraveling his whip. "Why should it be any different from the last times? You always refuse…but in the end, you always fight."

Erik's eyes narrowed as he gazed upon the bald-headed villain. What he despised the most about the vile captain was the way that Conrad spoke and looked upon him as nothing more than an object, a piece of property, an animal, more or less. Yet Conrad had been dehumanizing people for years. Erik knew all about the captain's evil slave business, and had even seen several of those poor souls being brought back to the man's pit, and put through terrible acts of torture. Thankfully, the King's laws were making it harder and harder for Captain Conrad's ships to continue trading slaves; unfortunately, it meant that the man had found new ways of making money…ways that involved _him_.

"Listen…" Conrad whispered. In the distance, the shouts, which had been chanting Conrad's name, began to change.

"BRING US THE BEAST! WE WANT THE MONSTER!"

"Hear that?" Conrad grinned. "They're shouting for you! Your public awaits…"

Erik grunted at the bald-headed man's words. Ever since he was sold to Captain Conrad, he had been forced to do hard labor, day and night. The work was excruciating and painful, and yet it made Erik stronger than he had ever imagined. Conrad took an obvious notice of this, and on a whim, decided to accept a wager with a fellow sea captain that his strongest man was no match for Erik. What began as a bet between two drunks soon grew into a clever side business. And what began as a fight every other month for the past seven years…soon became a weekly occurrence.

Yet one thing remained the same; Erik never lost.

Another thing remained the same, too. Erik was always "unmasked".

"I don't want to fight," Erik growled, testing the bonds on his chains.

Captain Conrad laughed. "What…after so many years, you're actually showing fear?" The other men joined Conrad in his laughter, each pointing a finger and mocking Erik. "You always win, my boy," Conrad sighed, wiping his eyes as if the laughter had caused him to cry. "Sometimes it's close, but in the end…Conrad's Monster always wins."

Erik hated that word. It was yet another reminder of how his life had changed, the day his father died.

"Come on," Conrad ordered, gripping the handle of his whip in a semi-threatening manner. "You can take this man; he may look big, but he's no match for you."

Erik resisted, his arms flexing several times within his chains, his dark eyes narrowed as he stared back into Conrad's own cold eyes. Then, faster than lightning, the whip escaped Conrad's grip, and Erik hissed as he felt a great, stinging pain, burn across his chest. "I said…get…up…" Conrad's words were clipped through tight lips, and despite the reluctance and rebellion he was feeling…Erik slowly rose to his feet.

When he stood, he towered over all the men present. He had his father's strong build, broad back, and long, powerful, muscular arms and legs. The chains still kept him in place, but Erik knew that if they could give way just the slightest bit…he would use them to kill this man he so deeply hated.

"That's a good dog," Conrad grinned. The bald-headed captain then turned to several of his men, and without a word, simply nodded his head at them. The men then rushed forward, knowing the task they had to perform. Two men grabbed a hold of Erik's wrists, forcing his arms together, and binding them with thick ropes, before unlocking the chains. The chains at his ankles were also undone, although another man stood just behind Erik, the blade of his dagger pricking Erik's back as if daring him to try to kick and lash out, let alone run. The chain that was about his neck remained; Conrad always took hold of it.

"Good," Conrad mumbled, as his men finished their tasks. "Now," he said, looking directly into the burlap covered face of his prized possession. "What do we always say before you go into a fight?"

Erik's voice was so deep, the ground beneath their feet trembled. "To fight my enemy…as if I were I fighting you."

Conrad simply grinned. "I think we're ready, then." Without another word, Conrad gave a harsh tug on the chain, and pulled Erik behind him, while his other men followed close by, each making noises with their various weapons, wanting it to be distinctly clear that should Erik try anything before they reached the ring…they were ready to stop him.

What they didn't know…was that Erik had been planning for this night ever since the mysterious nighttime arrival of his stepmother.

The ring where the fights took place was at a deeper section, within Conrad's pit. The "arena" as Conrad called it, had taken three long, weary years, of hard toil and labor to create, but when it was completed, the captain couldn't have been prouder. It was circular, and boasted several rows of benches for the spectators to sit and watch the fights take place. At the center of the chamber, was another pit; one that was ten feet deep, with steep walls carved out of rock. The fighters were thrown into the pit, and the crowd watched from above, placing bets while cheering for blood. In the beginning, the fights were determined by who knocked the first man down. But as the years passed, they became bloodier and gorier. From who could knock the other man out, to who could draw first blood, to who could break an arm or leg. It was only a matter of time before the stakes were changed once more…and for the worse…

Conrad paused his steps as they stood just beyond the doors that led into the small arena. He took a deep breath, as if breathing in a strange fragrance. The shouts from inside were deafening, and Erik felt all the muscles in his body tense as one of Conrad's men began to open the doors.

"WE WANT THE MONSTER! BRING US THE MONSTER!"

The arena was packed! Every seat was filled, and where men could not sit, they stood, banging their fists against the walls, crying out for Conrad's Monster, demanding satisfaction for their greed and lust for gore. As soon as Conrad entered the room, the noise level grew even louder, and everyone stood on their feet, cheering or booing, as the hateful captain tugged on the chain around Erik's neck.

"MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!" chanted their crazed voices, some reaching out and attempting to touch Erik's bare shoulders, or possibly grab the burlap sack that still covered his head.

He was filled with such hatred, such blind hatred for these people…and for the man who led him in like a dog, whom he knew was responsible for all this.

Conrad smiled and waved to his public, all the while tugging on Erik's chain. "Hear them, Erik? They LOVE you!"

Love? What they loved was the money he won for them. What they loved was seeing him destroy another man before their eyes. They loved the horrible things that he did; they held no affection for him, and would sooner spit on him, than help him escape.

"Look!" Conrad hissed, grabbing hold of the shackle around Erik's neck, forcing him to look in the direction Conrad was pointing. "_He's_ your competition."

Through the cut holes in his burlap mask, Erik took in the sight of another sea captain, leading a large, bald-headed man, his body covered in oil to show off his muscles, his arms covered with various tattoos, and in his nose, was one, large, gold ring, reminding Erik of a pig. The man's eyes were narrowed, dark slits, and he glared at Erik, while pounding his fist against the palm of his hand in an effort to look intimidating.

"Conrad," the other sea captain greeted, stiffly.

"Joseph," Conrad muttered, his eyes flashing back and forth between Erik and Joseph's fighter. "So you think that _thing_ is a match for my monster, eh?"

Joseph turned and slapped his hand on giant's shoulder. "Bone Crusher has killed many—"

Conrad burst out laughing. _"Bone Crusher?!"_ Soon his men were joining in, once more laughing and mocking that which they themselves had not the courage to face on their own.

Joseph scowled. "I call him that because that is what he does! He crushes the bones of those he defeats, and he will defeat your beast, Conrad!"

"Oh please," Conrad chuckled, managing to control his laughter. "My monster is undefeated, Joseph, you know that. You've seen what my monster can do."

"I have," the other captain muttered. "But he was simply lucky then; your monster hasn't fought anyone like Bone Crusher, who you can tell…is bigger than your beast."

Erik looked at his opponent once more, taking in the sight of the large, grunting brute. It was true; this fighter was the first who was actually somewhat taller than himself…

"Bigger does not mean better, Joseph," Conrad laughed. "My monster has experience! Seven years of fighting experience, and not once, as he ever—"

"Then I suppose you don't mind raising the stakes?" Joseph interrupted, folding his arms across his chest.

Conrad paused and eyed the other captain, before nodding his head. "Alright, tell me of your stakes?"

"They are simple," Joseph murmured. "If you are so confident in your beast, then I don't see why we don't take this fight to its full potential."

Conrad lifted a brow at Joseph's words. "Are you suggesting—"

"I am," Joseph grinned. "To the death."

Conrad eyed the man for a moment, before glancing over his shoulder at Erik, then once more at Joseph's fighter. He looked at Erik once more, his eyes boring into Erik's own, through the slits in the burlap, and then turned his attention once more to Joseph. "Agreed."

Erik felt the blood in his face drain at Conrad's words. He knew this day was coming, but it still surprised him. His plan would have to change, it seemed. At least slightly…

"YOU!" Bone Crusher grunted, pushing past Joseph and getting into Erik's covered face. "I'll tear your heart out of your chest and eat it in front of all these people, while it's still beating in my fist!"

Erik said nothing, he simply stared back into the bald fighter's eyes.

"Let's get on with this," Conrad muttered, pushing himself between the two fighters. "They underestimate you, my boy," the sea captain hissed into Erik's ear. "They think that just because they have a brute who's somewhat larger than you, that you're easily defeated. Ha! They have no idea who they're dealing with…" without warning, Conrad gripped hold of the burlap sack, and pulled it off Erik's head, revealing his disfigured flesh for the whole arena.

A loud cheer went up around the room, and people began chanting "MONSTER!" once more.

"Never let it be said that Captain Conrad does not deliver," he grinned, waving at the crowd once more, before turning his attentions back on Erik. "Now get down there, and KILL that son of a bitch!"

Erik was good at fighting, he had pent up rage that he wanted to unleash on the Countess, Thomas, and even Captain Conrad, yet he couldn't…so instead, he unleashed on the men he fought. Yet despite his undefeated victories…Erik hated fighting.

"Get in the pit!" Conrad ordered, pushing Erik towards the edge, while the crowd rose to their feet, beating their fists against the walls and pounding their feet on the ground. "Get in that pit and earn your keep!"

Erik turned his head and snarled at Conrad, wanting nothing more than to lash out at the bald-headed slave driver, but before he could even begin to act out his wishes, Conrad lifted his booted foot, and kicked Erik into the pit, his hand releasing the chain that was still clasped to the shackle around his neck. "MAKE ME PROUD!" he shouted over the cheers around him.

Erik landed with a thud on the pit's floor, and looked up at Conrad and the crowds around him, hating and growling at each and every one of them. Another loud thud echoed around the pit, and Erik turned his gaze forward, taking in the sight of the man known as Bone Crusher.

Before Erik could even blink…Bone Crusher's fist flew out, and hit Erik squarely in the jaw, sending blood flying from his mouth.

Cheers for Bone Crusher went up, and boos were heard on Conrad's side, as Erik stumbled backwards. "GET ON YOUR FEET!" Conrad screamed. "KILL HIM!"

Bone Crusher grinned evilly, and stalked over to Erik's side, grabbing the bleeding man by the strands of his hair, and lifting his head back so he could get a good look at Erik's face. "Ugh…you are one ugly bastard," Bone Crusher muttered, before throwing his fist into Erik's face. Erik didn't even have time to recover from the second punch, for Bone Crusher continued to pummel him, until his nose and the scars were bleeding profusely.

"ERIK!" Conrad shouted, falling to his hands and knees and gripping the edge of the pit. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? FIGHT HIM! KILL HIM! DESTROY THAT BASTARD!"

Bone Crusher picked Erik up by the strands of his hair, and the edge of his tattered breeches, and threw the semi-conscious man against one of the walls of pit, causing the entire crowd, on both sides, to gasp and groan at the sight. Erik crumbled, lifelessly, to the ground, while Bone Crusher lifted his arms high into the air, soaking in the applause and cheers around him.

"Pay up now, Conrad," Joseph laughed from across the pit.

Conrad glared at the other sea captain. "It's not over yet! You said 'to the death'; until one of these bastards kills the other, it's not over! And until then, NO ONE gets paid!" he turned and glared down at Erik, who was barely moving from where he lay. If Bone Crusher didn't kill him, _HE_ would.

"FINISH HIM, BONE CRUSHER!" shouted someone from the crowds.

"BREAK HIS BONES!"

"SNAP HIS NECK!"

"TEAR OUT HIS HEART, JUST LIKE YOU SAID!"

Bone Crusher grinned and turned his eyes once more onto Erik's crumpled form. With his fists balled at his sides, the bald-headed giant stalked towards his victim, prepared to do just what the crowd was shouting for. "Huh," he grunted, as he leaned over Erik's body. "I'm disappointed. They said you were tough…"

Bone Crusher reached out to grab a hold of Erik's hair once more, but before he could even lay a finger on his disfigured opponent, Erik reached out with lightning speed, grabbed the other man's arm with both hands, and twisted the arm just so, causing the sound of Bone Crusher's bones, breaking, to echo all around the arena. The loud, cracking sound was soon followed by the man's howls of pain. "I am tough," Erik growled, before throwing his own fist into the man's nose, and breaking that, as he flew backward.

"THAT'S MY MONSTER!" Conrad shouted, while the crowd around him cheered. Joseph stared with wide eyes at his bleeding, crying fighter, and at the dark creature that had just risen to his feet.

"KILL HIM!" shouted the men behind Conrad. "KILL HIM, MONSTER!"

Erik growled at the people around him, before fixing his gaze on the bald-headed fighter who was spitting blood and cradling his limp, broken arm, against his chest.

"THAT'S RIGHT, ERIK! KILL HIM! FINISH HIM OFF!" Conrad roared.

Joseph glanced back and forth between Conrad's fighter and his own, and without warning, grabbed a dagger from the sheath of a man nearby, and threw it down into the pit. "STAB HIM, CRUSHER! SLICE HIM OPEN!"

Erik saw the torchlight gleaming on the blade as it fell into the pit, landing just beside the other man. Bone Crusher didn't waste time, he grabbed the weapon and got back onto his feet, the dagger seeming to take away the agony he was feeling in his arm. "You're dead, monster," Bone Crusher growled, and without warning, leapt forward, slashing out with the dagger at Erik's bare chest.

Erik was quick on his feet, and leapt back, dodging the dagger, but just barely. Several people began booing as Bone Crusher once more, attempted to cut Erik with the dagger. "HE'S CHEATING!" shouted someone within the crowd. "THROW THE BEAST A WEAPON!"

Conrad glared at Joseph, before grabbing a club that one of his men had been holding, and throwing it down into the pit. "BREAK HIM IN TWO, ERIK!"

The club hit the ground just in front of Erik's feet, but it was too risky, attempting to move towards it, when Bone Crusher was wielding the dagger, prepared to leap forth and slice his throat. Another object fell into the pit, followed by another. Erik didn't dare move his eyes off Bone Crusher, but he could hear Conrad shouting above him to grab one of the various weapons he had thrown into the pit and use it to fight back.

But even if he was in a position to grab one of those weapons, Erik refused. He was going to end this with his fists…just as he always did.

"COME ON, MONSTER!" Bone Crusher roared, lashing out once more with the dagger. "COME ON AND FIGHT!"

"HE'S SCARED!" someone shouted overhead. "THE MONSTER HAS TURNED YELLOW! HE'S GOT HIS TAIL TUCKED BETWEEN HIS LEGS!" Half of the arena burst out laughing, and began calling Erik names, while cheering on Bone Crusher to finish the freak off.

Conrad was raging, pounding his fists upon the ground as Erik continued to dodge Bone Crusher's attacks. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE!? FIGHT HIM! FIGHT HIM OR I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

"MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!" chanted the crowd behind Conrad, pounding their feet with every shout.

Erik felt his back touch the wall behind him, his eyes never once leaving Bone Crusher's. The bald fighter threw back his head and laughed, taking joy in the fact that he had Erik cornered. "I'll teach you for breaking my arm," he growled, as the blood poured down his face. "And my nose."

Erik only narrowed his eyes and prepared himself.

With screams from either side of the pit, Bone Crusher gripped the dagger, and plummeted towards Erik, ready to dig the blade into Erik's chest…when Erik ducked, just a breath away from feeling the blade touch his skin, shot his fist up into the brute's groin, causing Bone Crusher to howl in pain, allowing Erik to leap to his feet, and kick his foot out, sending the bald fighter flying back.

"MONSTER! MONSTER!" shouted Erik's supporters, and Conrad threw his head back and laughed, when he caught Joseph's stunned expression.

Bone Crusher attempted to rise up once more, but Erik was faster, slamming his foot down on Bone Crusher's leg, once more causing the fighter to howl in pain. "I wouldn't, if I were you," Erik growled, his words filled with venomous promise.

Bone Crusher didn't heed that promise, and still holding the dagger in his hand, attempted to stab at Erik once more…but Erik was faster, and moved away just as the dagger came close to cutting him…and instead, ending up plunging into Bone Crusher's own thigh.

"AHHHH!!!" Bone Crusher screamed, but before he could remove the dagger, Erik gripped the handle and jerked it out himself.

"I warned you," Erik muttered, before gripping Bone Crusher's leg, and without warning, twisting it until the bone snapped within. The previous howl of pain was nothing compared to the one that Bone Crusher now released, as Erik broke his leg.

"GOOD BOY!" Conrad cried, his laughter filling the cavern over all the cheers. Joseph looked defeated, and all of Bone Crusher's supporters began booing him, as the fighter lay on the ground, crying and blubbering about the pain in his arm and leg. Erik looked down at the man who tried to use his size to intimate him, but saw the man's true cowardly face, as he begged for Erik to spare him.

"KILL HIM, MONSTER! KILL HIM!" shouted the crowd overhead. They were not going to be satisfied until they saw a man die.

"Listen to them, Erik," Conrad laughed. "They're shouting for you! They love you! Give them what they want! Kill the son of a bitch!"

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

Erik looked at Conrad with absolute disgust, then he looked at the crowd of spectators, each screaming for blood, each screaming for death. And they called _him_ a monster?

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?" Conrad shouted, growing more and more irritated. "FINISH HIM OFF!"

Erik looked once more down at the blubbering coward before him, before lifting his eyes to the crowd, and settling them on Conrad's face.

"No."

In that rare moment, the crowd seemed to fall silent, and all eyes were fixed on Conrad, awaiting his reaction to the Monster's defiance.

"What!?" Conrad hissed, his face flooding with color as he stared back at Erik, the muscles in his neck and forehead twitching.

"No," Erik repeated once more, dropping the dagger in his hand. "I'm finished listening to your commands…and I'm finished with obeying them."

The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves, but Conrad lifted his hand which silenced them all at once. "Listen to me, _slave_…" he snarled, his eyes glaring back into Erik's dark gaze. "You will kill that son of a bitch, and you will do it…_now_."

"No," Erik spat, his eyes never leaving Conrad's. "You want him dead? _You_ come down here and kill him yourself."

"WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS!?" someone shouted nearby.

"MAKE THE MONSTER KILL THAT BASTARD!" someone else shouted.

"DO SOMETHING, CONRAD!"

Conrad was shaking with anger and humiliation, as the crowd around him began to boo and throw rocks and pebbles at him. If he didn't do something soon, he would have a riot on his hands! "JOSEPH!" he cried, marching over to the other sea captain. "PAY UP!"

Joseph stared at Conrad as if he had grown a second head. "Pay you? I owe you nothing!"

"My beast defeated your fighter!" Conrad snarled, trying to regain some control of the situation.

"The stakes were to the death," Joseph growled back. "And since your creature didn't kill Bone Crusher…then Bone Crusher WINS!"

A loud cheer went up behind Joseph, and others began demanding their payment from the men they bet against in the arena. Naturally those that were supporting Conrad and his fighter, argued over the idea of paying their debts, and it didn't take long for a fight to break out within the stands. After one punch was thrown, others quickly followed, and chaos erupted the arena.

This was all Erik's fault! Conrad turned back to the pit, prepared to shout something at Erik…when he realized that Erik was no longer in the pit! His eyes flew up to his men, who were trying to control the crowds around them, but it was utter chaos, nothing could be done to control these men, even if Erik did destroy Bone Crusher, no one would notice, the idiots! And that was exactly what happened! Erik had managed to escape when no one was paying attention!

Conrad grabbed hold of two of his men and pushed them outside the arena, while the fight continued. "Find me that freak!" he snarled. "And when you do, bring him to me! I WANT TO KILL HIM MYSELF!"

"Why wait?" Erik asked, appearing from the shadows, just behind Conrad, and throwing the loose end of his chain around the sea captain's neck.

One of Conrad's men opened his mouth to scream, but Erik was faster, his elbow flying into the man's stunned face and knocking him out, cold. The other man moved to grab his dagger, but Erik kicked his boot out, knocking the dagger from the man's hand, before kicking the man, hard, into the stomach, causing him to fly backward and hit his head against the stonewall, knocking him out as well.

"Ah, alone at last," Erik growled into Conrad's ear, before pulling the chain taut, causing Conrad to gasp and flap about, his fingers rising to grip at the chain and pull it away, but Erik only pulled harder. "I confess, I've been waiting for this moment for a long time…" Erik hissed, pulling the chain tighter, watching Conrad's face turn purple. "Now…you are going to do something for me," Erik growled, before dragging the gasping sea captain away, pulling his body with ease, the chain still tightly wrapped around Conrad's neck.

Erik moved quickly, not wanting anyone else to notice in the chaos of all the fighting, that Conrad was missing, let alone himself. He practically carried Conrad's flailing body through his underground prison, not pausing once, until he reached a small chamber, far from the arena. The walls of the chamber were covered with various maps, some of which were marked. A single candle burned inside, illuminating a small a desk, covered with piles of blank parchment, as well as an inkwell and a single pen. This was Conrad's private business quarters, the place where he conducted much of his vile slave trading plans.

Erik practically thrust the gasping sea captain towards the desk before muttering into his ear, "Write."

Conrad tried to turn his body so he could look into Erik's crazed eyes. "W-w-w-write?" he gasped. "W-w-write what?"

Erik squeezed the chain even harder. "You will not talk," he growled. "If you are talking, that means you can breathe far too easily." He demonstrated his threat by pulling the chain so tightly, that Conrad nearly fell forward on the desk. "And to answer your question, you will write a letter to my dear stepmother," Erik growled, low and deep. "And you will tell her everything she wants to know…"

Conrad didn't have to see Erik's eyes, let alone ask him what he meant. He knew exactly what the Countess wanted to hear.

"Keep the words simple," Erik warned. "I haven't forgotten, entirely, how to read…"

With shaky fingers, Conrad took the pen and dipped it into the inkwell and began to quickly write a simple note, telling the Countess what had become of her stepson, and that everything she wanted him to do, was now, finally complete.

Erik carefully read the letter over Conrad's shoulders, approving of its simple message. "Good. Now sign it," he growled, before pulling on the chain. Conrad gasped, but did as he was told, placing his signature on the bottom of the parchment, before folding it, and taking a red wax seal, and sealing the letter. He then proceeded to address the letter to Ravenskeep, but upon finishing the address, Erik took the letter himself. "Good dog," Erik muttered, mocking Conrad's tone from earlier.

Breathing was painful, but Conrad risked the pain, in order to speak. "You…you…you h-honestly think…a l-letter w-w-will s-stop the Countess…or p-protect you?" He winced as Erik squeezed the chain harder. "You…you b-b-better kill me," he gasped. "B-b-because…if y-you don't…I p-p-promise…I promise you…I _will_ f-f-find you…and k-kill you…myself!"

Conrad gasped as he felt his body being spun around, until he was looking into Erik's hideous, disfigured face, his dark eyes burning into his own, the candlelight creating an eerie gold color within their shadowed depths. "You beat me," Erik growled. "You put my body on display…my face on display!" he roared. "You tortured me without mercy! You made me a slave!"

"YES! And I would do it all again!" Conrad shouted, managing to find enough air to raise his voice. "A-a-a-and I m-made you into s-s-so much more, Erik…" he gasped. "I made you…into a monster!"

Erik threw his head back and roared with anger and hatred, and squeezed the chain so tightly, that despite his wide-open mouth, no sound escaped Conrad's throat. Erik continued to squeeze, watching as the bald villain's eyes rolled backward, his face turn blue, and his body, which was trembling and thrashing about…go still.

Erik stared at the lifeless man before him, and immediately released the chain, allowing Conrad's body to crumple at his feet.

It was over; after all these years…he had managed to kill his enemy!

Erik slowly backed away from the body, swallowing a lump in his throat as he stared at the lifeless form of villainous sea captain. Funny…he had always imagined Conrad's death to be more…satisfying. But all he felt was a cold emptiness…

"Conrad?"

Erik's head whipped around as he heard several of Conrad's men call out for him in the tunnels ahead. He had to escape before any of them found him! Erik looked about him, and grabbed several items that were resting on a chair near the desk, including a long, dark cloak. He threw the cloak on, pulling the hood over his head and quietly, exited the chamber, the note to his stepmother tightly clasped to his side.

He stuck to the shadows, while various men flooded the tunnels, each looking for their boss, as well as for the beast that escaped the fighting pit. Erik watched as they went off in different directions, before finally moving through the tunnels, seeking his own exit, his own escape route. However…before leaving the pits of Hell…he paused at a familiar place, the place where he spent much of his time, when not above ground working.

Erik shoved aside the cursed shackles and chains that had kept him imprisoned for all those years, and dug his hand beneath the straw that was his bed…and finally retrieved the very object he had been looking for. Without another look, he tucked the object into the cloak, and under the cover of shadow…climbed out of Hell, and escaped into the night-covered forest above.

* * *

"_MONSTER! MONSTER! MONSTER!"_

"_KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"_

"_GET HIM! STOP HIM! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"_

"_FINISH HIM OFF! FINISH _ERIK_ OFF!"_

Erik gasped and shot up from the patch of moss he had been sleeping on. He looked wildly around him…and let out a heavy sigh of relief…as he realized, once more, that he was free.

The shouts, the cheers, the hateful greedy cries that often haunted his dreams; they were simply that. Nightmares; and if Erik had his way, they would forever be nightmares of the past. "I am free, now," Erik whispered to himself, lifting his eyes to the early morning sky. "Free…" he breathed in the early morning air as he murmured the word over and over again, before opening his eyes and fixing them northward. "And I will see Ravenskeep restored to its true owner," he vowed.

He tried to stand up, but his muscles were aching from last night's fight. His face felt tender to; the bastard known as Bone Crusher had opened several old cuts already imbedded upon his scars. If he wasn't ugly before, he certainly was now.

In the distance, the sound of thunder could be heard. Erik's brow creased with confusion, and he lifted his eyes to the sky, but not one storm cloud could be found. The sound was growing louder and louder, and Erik turned his head in the direction in which he could hear it…

Horses!

Conrad's men, no doubt, seeking him to extract their revenge upon him for killing their leader. As far as Erik was concerned, they were all blubbering cowards, but he was in no condition to fight, let alone fight a whole mob of men. So instead, Erik found a large oak tree, and hid behind its massive trunk, waiting as the horses grew closer and closer, wishing that he had thought to bring Conrad's dagger with him.

The horses were approaching…closer…and closer! Erik held his breath, prepared to fight if he must, and waited…waited…

But the horses did not stop their galloping. Erik peered around the tree and watched, as a large group of men on horseback, thundered through the forest, not pausing or looking anywhere around them, simply racing onward to some unseen goal.

The men were dressed very elegantly, wearing royal blue tunics, and several of them holding what looked like blue and purple flags, laced with gold. On one of the flags, Erik made out the picture of a crown, set atop a mountain. These were the King's soldiers!

Erik hid once more behind his tree, trying to think why the King's soldiers were racing southward. There was nothing in that direction, save for Eastergard's seaport—

Of course! Conrad was always fearful of the King's soldiers; no doubt they were heading to the seaport to inspect the ships docked there. And poor Conrad was no longer alive to stop them from seizing hold of the ship's inventory, and discover the cruel slave trading his ships were involved in. Of course, that also meant that the King's soldiers would discover that Conrad was dead, especially if any of Conrad's men were about. Would the King's soldiers bother to investigate? Or would they basically see Captain Conrad as an evil villain and think good riddance? Either way, Erik couldn't risk staying in the forest another minute longer…

A new sound alerted Erik's senses, and he whipped his head in front him, gasping at the sight of a lone horse, saddled…but with no rider.

The white horse, with a gray nose, looked directly into Erik's eyes, before lowering its head to munch on the clover at its hooves. Erik looked all around him, trying to think of whom the horse belonged to, let alone wonder what became of the creature's rider. As far as he could see, there weren't any houses or farms or anything nearby. Trees surrounded them, for as far as the eye could see. There wasn't even a clear path, which was why it was so startling to see the King's soldiers ride through the area. Did this horse belong to them? Erik quietly approached the animal, which continued grazing, and noticed that unlike those horses, it did not have a tunic, let alone a saddle, marked by the royal seal. The stirrups, the reigns, and even the saddle, all looked plain, like that of a farmer's horse. "Where is your master?" Erik softly asked the animal, as he gently reached out, and allowed his fingers to run over the horse's white mane.

The horse's only reply was a lift of its head, and a gentle nudge of its gray nose. The animal certainly seemed friendly, or at least it didn't seem to be frightened by him. "Well," Erik whispered, looking all around him. "I don't know who you belong to…but I am in need of a horse, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to 'borrow' you, at least until I reach Ravenskeep."

The horse made a soft whinny, before turning its attention to a small stream flowing nearby, and began drinking its cool waters. The creature didn't seem like it was going to run off anywhere soon, so Erik decided to also take a moment to sip the stream's cool waters, as well as wash the dried blood from his face, before mounting the animal and continuing on his journey.

"Good Lord…" Erik groaned, catching his reflection in the water. All throughout his childhood, his father had done everything in his power to make sure Erik didn't feel like an outsider, an abomination, because of his face. Yet the Countess had been able to destroy all the good his father had done in the few short weeks after the Earl's death, when she made it quite clear that she was now, lord and master of Ravenskeep.

How he hated her; how he despised that witch! He hated Conrad for all the wrong he had done to him, but it was the Countess who was responsible for it all. She had sold him to Captain Conrad, and because of her, Ravenskeep was suffering. She spent the wealth that was once his father's on wasteful frivolities, and more or less reduced the few servants that did remain, to slaves!

Oh God above, he prayed that Celeste, Duncan, and Julia were alright. The Countess never told him anything about Ravenskeep when she visited, nor did Captain Conrad ever say anything. If he learned that she, or that piggish son of hers, did anything to any of them…

The whinny from the horse woke Erik from his trance. He looked up, noticing that it was gently galloping away from the stream! "Wait! Come back here!" Erik cried, quickly rising to his feet and chasing after the animal. Where on earth was it going? He couldn't see anything through the brush around him—

Erik froze as suddenly, out from behind a tree, a rider leapt upon the animal's back, and dug his heels into the horse's flanks.

"HEY!" Erik shouted, pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head. Judging by the garb of the rider, it was a simple peasant boy! And he was stealing _HIS_ horse!

The rider didn't hear him, or at least pretended not to hear him, for the boy simply continued to lead the horse into a gallop, dodging the various trees that surrounded them. Erik's eyes narrowed, glaring at the boy's retreating back. He needed that horse to make it back to Ravenskeep! And he was going to get that animal…no matter what!

But chasing after it would only spook the horse into riding faster. No…he had to come up with another strategy.

The boy was muttering something to the horse as he tried to lead the beast out of the forest, yet the animal seemed to be distracted, if not by the plentiful amounts of clover at its hooves, than by something unseen…

"Come on, come on!" the boy muttered once more, trying to dig his heels into the horse's flanks. "You can eat later! Hurry up before they get back!"

The horse, however, froze in place, as a noise could be heard from overhead. The boy didn't seem to notice, and kept trying to drive the horse onward, but the beast lifted its head and looked up at the trees above...

"Stop looking up, and start moving!" the boy muttered once more, groaning and attempting, one last time, to dig his heels into the animal.

But he didn't have the chance. Because the second he lifted his body, ever so slightly off the horse, a great crashing sound could be heard overhead, and before the boy even had the chance to look up and see what was causing the sound, a giant dark avenging angel, swooped down from the tree branches, and knocked the boy right off the horse!

"THIEF!" the attacker hissed, wrestling the boy to the ground, although the boy was certainly putting up quite a fight, struggling as he did, trying to scramble free from Erik's large, muscular body, which held him down.

"NO!" the boy cried, struggling even more. "STOP IT! GET OFF!"

The growls that Erik was snarling at the horse thief stopped…as he realized that the boy's voice had changed, slightly. He had noticed before that it was oddly high-pitched…but there was something else about the voice. Something…feminine?

Erik's eyes narrowed, as he peered down from the darkness within his hood, at the boy before him. Now that the boy was beneath him…Erik began to notice that he _felt_ feminine as well!

"I SAID GET OFF ME!" the boy shouted, his wild thrashing causing the hat that he had been wearing to fall off…and reveal a cascade of chocolate brown curls…

Erik was stunned. "You're…you're a girl!?"

The peasant boy…who in truth was a girl dressed in the garments of a peasant boy, didn't bother answering her attacker's stunned question. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath, and sent her knee soaring up, until it met its mark with her attacker's groin.

"Argh!" Erik groaned, momentarily loosening his grip about the girl. She wasted no time with scrambling out from under him, and rising to her feet. Before Erik could even turn his head to speak, she picked up a fallen tree branch, and swung it as hard as she could at his head! "Umph!" Erik cursed, falling backwards and holding the cloak's hood tightly to his face, trying to hide his scars from her vengeful eyes, as well as trying to protect his head from another attack.

"You stay away!" the girl warned, trying to make herself look bigger than she was, by holding the branch in a somewhat threatening manner. Erik simply groaned in pain, and cradled his now aching head in his hands.

The girl slowly backed away, still holding the branch, and trying desperately to regain her composure after the sudden attack. She looked all about her, as if waiting to see if any other dark, giant angels, were falling from the sky. Satisfied that her attacker wasn't going to rise to his feet, she quickly scrambled onto the back of her horse. "Don't even think of trying to follow me!" she warned, before digging her heels into the horse's flanks, and urging the beast to gallop away. This time the horse didn't hesitate, and obeyed his mistress, leaving Erik alone on the forest floor, his body aching from the surprising attack.

"No man in his right mind," Erik grumbled, before finding the strength to fully sit up, "would even think of following you." Indeed, for although he had no idea who the girl was…he knew one thing for certain. Wherever she went, there was sure to be trouble. After all, what sort of girl would dress as a boy, anyway?

Another groan escaped Erik's throat, although it was due to something digging into his side. He pulled the object out and stared down at it.

The black mask Dominique had given him, just the other night.

He recalled his reflection in the forest stream, and without another moment's thought, put the mask on, covering his disfigured face from all the world.

As he rose to his feet, he couldn't help but see the irony in the situation. The Countess had given Erik many things: grief, pain, resentment, hatred; yet this was one thing that she had given him, that he found useful.

* * *

Christine was still trembling after her unexpected encounter with the dark stranger. Where had he come from!? It was as if he had fallen from heaven, himself! "A fallen angel," she muttered to herself. Funny, whenever she thought about angels, the dark, shadowed image of her attacker was the last thing she had ever imagined an angel to look like. 

"This is your fault, I hope you know that," she muttered to the horse. The animal didn't respond, he simply slowed his pace. Christine rolled her eyes and groaned as she reached behind to massage the knots in back. She had been riding all night, and just before the sun broke across the horizon, she realized she could not go any further without stopping to rest. So she sought shelter in a nearby forest, dismounting her horse and securing his reigns to a nearby tree, or so she thought, just before she went to lie down on a thick patch of green moss.

She awoke, later, to the thunderous sound of horses…and to the realization that her own horse was nowhere to be seen!

Christine hid as she watched her father's soldiers ride through the forest. Damn it, they had found the trail she had left behind! As soon as they moved on, she quickly went about the task of trying to find her own horse and get out of there! And after a few minutes of searching, there she found him, drinking water from a nearby stream.

She whistled her call to the animal, and the horse lifted his head, before gently galloping towards her. Christine wasted no time; she mounted the animal and tried her hardest to lead him out of the forest, and away from the soldiers. But the horse knew something she didn't…but oh, she quickly learned what it was.

Another tremble rolled down her spine as she recalled the strong, powerful arms that held her down to the ground. She had heard stories of highwaymen and thieves, roaming forests, preying upon unsuspecting women; hence the reason she chose to wear the garb of one of her father's stable hands. The attacker himself even thought she was a boy! But the second he learned she was a girl, Christine knew she had to act, before he tried to force himself upon her. Thank God for Fredrick; her brother had taught her well, in how to defend herself.

Yet it was strange; the stranger, whoever he was, seemed to be very determined to keep his face hidden behind that bizarre cloak. Did he know who she was? Did he recognize her, and wanted to make sure that she did not have a face to report to the King? Well, it didn't matter; it wasn't as if she would ever see him again anyway…

"HALT!"

Christine gasped, and her horse reared up, at the sudden appearance of one of the King's soldiers. She whipped her head around, and realized…she was surrounded! Several of the men were on horseback, and emerged from behind the trees, while others stood on their own feet, climbing out from bushes and revealing their displeased faces.

The game was up; they had found her.

"Christine…"

Christine groaned and lifted her eyes to the irritated voice just in front of her. Her own blue eyes locked with a similar pair, although his were filled with disappointment and frustration. "Hello, Fredrick," Christine mumbled to her brother.

Fredrick's horse slowly approached hers, and without a word, her brother reached out and gripped the reigns from Christine's fingers. "You have much explaining to do, young lady."


	5. Homecoming

This story has been on my mind a lot lately. I'm not saying that the other ones aren't on my mind, and I intend to update _Tapestry_ next, but you know how the muse bug can be! Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this next chapter! And also check out Ani's newest creation of Erik from this story; it can be found on my profile page. Enjoy!

* * *

**Summary: **Christine returns home to the palace, where some members of her family greet her with open arms...while others don't. Meanwhile, Erik returns to Ravenskeep...where he learns that the Countess has been making some "changes"...

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_Homecoming_**

The guards opened the throne room doors, granting access to the crown prince, and his somewhat disheveled sister. "Here we go," Christine muttered under her breath, as she followed Fredrick into the throne room, preparing herself for the onslaught of complaints her father no doubt had for her.

"Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Fredrick, and Princess Christine!" announced a page, as the two entered the large, blue and gold room.

"OH!" gasped a young woman, who quickly stood up from the chair she had been sitting in near one of the throne room's windows. "Oh! Oh Fredrick, you've returned!" she smiled, quickly crossing the room to embrace her husband.

"Hello, my love," Fredrick smiled, his arms moving around his wife and planting a sweet kiss upon her lips.

The woman then turned her attentions upon Christine, and without warning, practically launched herself at the girl, enfolding her in a giant hug. "Oh, Christine, we were so worried! Oh, thank God you are safe!"

Christine could not deny that Meg's fierce hug took her by surprise, but she also could not deny that she was grateful for the warm, kind gesture. She would not receive the same sort of greeting from her father; that was for sure.

Meg eased herself away, just slightly, but her hold on Christine did not lessen; rather, she cupped Christine's face in her hands and looked her up and down, before embracing her once more. "Oh Christine, why did you do it? I missed you, terribly! What if you were gone…and the baby…?"

Christine bit her lip, the guilt beginning to flood through her over what she had done. "I missed you too, Meg," she whispered, not feeling worthy to meet her sister-in-law's eyes. When Fredrick announced several years ago that he was going to marry, Christine truly believed she would hate his bride, thinking she would be snobbish and dim-witted, as most princesses in her acquaintance turned out to be; thankfully, she was wrong! Meg's sweet nature and kind spirit won Christine over in a matter of seconds after meeting her. The two of them quickly became very close friends, and Christine found the sister she had always been longing for. The two of them also came to depend upon each other, and Christine knew that Meg was extremely nervous about the upcoming birth of her first child. Christine had told Meg, over and over again, how she would hold her friend's hand, and stand by her side through it all, not caring if it went against "royal protocol". This seemed to put the blonde princess at ease, and she often told Christine how her courageous and passionate spirit gave her such strength, and such hope.

Indeed, Christine had not been thinking about her sister and friend when she had run away, and now, she felt extremely guilty and horrible for what she had done. "Forgive me, Meg," Christine whispered, slowly lifting her eyes to those of the other princess. "I promise you, I will not run away or abandon you again."

"No you bloody will not!"

A groan escaped Christine's throat, and she could not help but roll her eyes, as she turned her head in the direction of the voice that had spoken.

"Hello, Father."

King Leonard V marched right up to where his daughter stood, his own blue eyes glaring directly into those of his daughter's. "I suppose it's too much for _me_ to expect an apology?" he growled, his arms folding across his wide chest.

Christine squared her shoulders and glared directly back at her father. As his children grew older, he seemed to grow shorter. He and Christine were at the same eye level, something that gave the King cause to grumble, as he once muttered to Fredrick that it was much easier to intimidate Christine when she was smaller. "If that is your wish, Your Majesty," Christine purred, although a fool could tell she was being sarcastic. "Do forgive me, my liege!" she dramatically bowed, before over-dramatically falling to her knees and folding her hands as if she were pleading and begging. "Forgive me, please, for seeking freedom from an unjust marriage contract! Forgive me for wanting to live _my_ life and make decisions for _myself!_ Oh have mercy, great one! Have merc—"

"ENOUGH!" Leonard roared, his face resembling that of a volcano, ready to blow its top.

Fredrick rolled his eyes and grabbed his sister by the arms, forcing her back up, once more, onto her feet. "Stop it," he growled into her ear.

"He started it," Christine muttered back.

"Grow up!" Fredrick hissed once more, although it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

Christine rounded on her brother, glaring up at him, her chin held high. "That's what I'm TRYING to do!" she turned and glared back at her father. "It may come as a surprise to you both, but I do not run away for my own amusement, OR to give you headaches!" she all but shouted, her finger in her father's face. Christine's bright red face began to soften then, as the sincerity in her voice began to mix with the desperateness in her heart. "Father, I love you, despite what you may think, I do. And I love you too, Fredrick. I do value your thoughts and opinions, and I do consider them! But I put my foot down when it comes to decisions being made about _who_ I am to marry!"

Leonard glared back at his daughter, before producing a slip of paper. "Do you know what this is, Christine?"

Christine looked upon the paper her father held with some confusion. She noticed the broken seal on one end and could only come to one conclusion. "A letter?"

"Exactly," Leonard growled, before thrusting the letter into Christine's face. "From His Royal Majesty, Claude II, King of Roanland…and Prince Raoul's father!"

A heavy sigh escaped Christine's lungs as she took the letter out of her father's hands and began to read it. It was pointless, however, since her father seemed determined to tell her everything that it said, anyway.

"His Majesty, the King of Roanland, expresses great…_distress_, shall we say, towards your…_disinterest_, shall we say, to the letters and cards that Prince Raoul sends to you."

Christine lifted her eyes to her father and waited for the lecture which was coming any second…

"As you know, your dear mother, may she rest in peace, was Claude's cousin! And while that relationship brought us closer to Roanland, and helped us form an alliance with countries to the far north, a _marriage_ between our two lands, would truly secure that alliance for generations to come!"

Christine could not remain silent another moment longer. "But Father, it's _Raoul!"_

"Christine!" her father slammed his fist down on a nearby table, causing the sound to echo all around the room. He was fuming, and in all her years, Christine had never seen her father look so angry. He looked around at the few guards and counselors, scattered about the room, and with a dramatic gesture, pointed to the door. "Out! All of you! I wish to speak with my family, ALONE!"

The others didn't waste time; they quickly filed out of the room, leaving the royal family of Eastergard alone, to themselves. The second the doors to the throne room clicked shut, Leonard turned on his daughter, his eyes blazing with frustration and anger. "What, pray tell, is the problem with Prince Raoul!?"

"Father—"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Christine, but I thought you _liked_ him!"

Christine groaned. "Father, I do like him, but it's not—"

"Then what, exactly, is the problem!?" he roared, throwing his hands up into the air in exasperation.

"Father, if you would just listen—"

"No, Christine, YOU will LISTEN to ME!" he growled, pointing a finger in her face. "I am tired of making excuses for your behavior! You've known about this marriage contract for nearly five years now! But I indulged you, I wrote on your behalf that you weren't ready for marriage, _yet,_ and I kept putting the wedding off because I knew how greatly the idea distressed you. But I thought you would grow out of it!" he growled, before turning on his heel and pacing the length of the room. "Apparently, I was wrong!" Leonard grumbled. "This wasn't the first time you tried to run away! And look at you! I mean—" the King paused, as if for the first time truly getting a good look at his daughter. "Dear God in Heaven, Christine, what are you wearing!?"

Christine looked down at herself, noting the peasant garb she was wearing. "It belonged to one of the stable lads," she simply answered.

"BOY'S CLOTHING!?" the King gasped, his eyes ready to bulge out of their sockets.

"Well, I couldn't ride away in royal robes with a crown on my head, now could I? Besides, men have life so much easier when it comes to traveling clothes."

Meg knew this was a serious moment, but she couldn't help but giggle. "I must say…I think it rather suits you," she grinned, before quickly covering her mouth to avoid the King's displeasured look.

Leonard rolled his eyes, then looked down at his daughter's shoeless feet. "You dress like a boy, but forget to put on boots!?"

"Actually, no, the boots were too big," Christine muttered. Her feet were rather small, and it had always been difficult finding a pair of boots that fit her.

The King groaned and lifted his eyes to the heavens. "I always like to think of your mother, looking down on us from up above, but I pray she can not see you now."

Christine lifted her chin at her father's retort. "I think she would be rather proud of me!" she boldly stated. "Mother liked Raoul, that I can not deny, but she would NEVER want to force me to marry someone I didn't love!"

"Christine, you listen to me, and you listen good," Leonard growled, deep and low. "You are a princess…a royal princess of Eastergard…and it's high time you start ACTING LIKE ONE!"

"I am NOT a child, Father!" Christine shouted back. "I am nearly twenty years old—"

"EXACTLY!" her father bellowed. "So take your brother's advice and GROW UP!" he roared. "Being royal means having specific obligations! Your mother understood that, Fredrick and Meg understand that, and it's high time YOU understand that!"

"I DO!" Christine retorted, although it was becoming more and more difficult to keep her emotions in check. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, she refused to cry in front of him. "Father," she took a deep, calming breath. "If you would please, just listen to my reasons—"

"You will marry Prince Raoul by the eve of your twentieth birthday, or else!"

Christine stared at Leonard, glanced over her shoulder at both her brother and sister-in-law, and then looked back at her father. "Or else…?" she waited, curious to hear what his threat would be.

Leonard opened his mouth to retort…then paused, realizing that he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Or else…I…I will become EXTREMELY ANGRY!" he roared, although despite the loudness of his voice and the redness of his face, even the King could not deny it was a weak threat. However, to try and keep himself from looking foolish, he quickly changed the subject, catching his daughter completely off guard. "Where are the letters?" he demanded.

Christine looked at him strangely. "Letters?"

"Yes, the letters that Raoul wrote to you that, according to Claude's letter, you have refused to answer!"

Christine paled, and then began to blush at her father's words. "Those letters belong to me, Father, and they are none of your business!"

The King glared at Christine, before leaning in close and hissing. "You will produce those letters to me, RIGHT NOW!"

Fredrick stepped in, his brow furrowed with displeasure. "Father, I think that's too much—"

"You stay out of this!" Leonard growled. "It's because of YOU that I indulged her too much! You were always coming to her defense, convincing me that she wasn't ready for marriage; well you have a family of your own now, Fredrick," the King motioned towards Meg, whose hand was resting on her swollen stomach. "So let _me_ deal with _my_ daughter!" He turned his attention, once more on Christine, and lifted his finger in warning. "You will write to Prince Raoul, _immediately_, apologizing for your rude behavior and invite him to join us for the birthday festival!"

Christine opened her mouth, and then quickly closed it, knowing it was no use in protesting over this subject any longer. Instead, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, adopting the stance of a soldier. "Very well," she agreed. "But those letters belong to me…and I will not share them."

Leonard growled and opened his mouth to say something…then closed it, before turning on his heel and marching out of the throne room through a side door. "YOU ARE RESTRICTED TO THE GROUNDS UNTIL I SAY SO!" he stormed, allowing the entire room to shake after he slammed the door behind him.

Christine didn't say a word, she simply stood straight and tall as her father's words echoed all around her.

"Well done, Christine," Fredrick groaned, sarcastically. "Well done, indeed—"

"Fredrick, please," Meg interrupted, placing her hands gently on Christine's shoulders. "Why don't you go after your father and try to calm him down."

The last person Fredrick wanted to be around right now was his father, but the prince nodded his head, knowing that Meg was the only person who could truly get through to Christine, and so he turned and left the two women alone in the throne room.

As soon as the door shut behind the prince, Christine let out a long, shaky breath, before collapsing into a nearby chair. She was still doing everything in her power to keep herself from crying, but several small, silent tears, managed to drip down her cheeks despite her efforts. Meg sat in a chair next to her sister-in-law, and reached over to clasp her hand. "Hush my dear, it will be alright," she soothed in sweet voice.

"I hate making Father angry," Christine sighed. "I know that may seem hard to believe, especially after everything you just witnessed, but it's true. I don't like upsetting him, or Fredrick, I just…" she looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for some sign of wisdom or advice. "If they only understood my reluctance!"

Meg squeezed Christine's hand, affectionately. "Tell me of your reasons, my dear. I will listen."

Christine turned to look at Meg and smiled, happy that she had such a friend for a sister. "Oh Meg, you must understand, it is not that I dislike Raoul, on the contrary, I love him!"

Meg's brow furrowed at the younger princess' words. "Then…then why…?"

"It is not like the love you share with Fredrick, or the love that my mother and father felt," Christine explained. "As my father said, King Claude and my mother were cousins, so now and then our families would travel back and forth from Eastergard to Roanland. We would often go around Christmas, and Claude's children would visit almost every other summer. Raoul is the same age as Fredrick, and I wasn't like the other girls, Raoul's sisters, who liked to put on fancy dresses and have tea parties with their dolls; I enjoyed climbing trees, swimming, running, jumping in muddy puddles," she couldn't help but giggle at several childhood memories. "I preferred playing alongside Fredrick and Raoul, and…that was exactly how I came to see Raoul…as another brother."

"Ah, I see," Meg murmured, understanding in her voice. "So when you say that you love him…it is the same sort of love you feel for Fredrick."

"Exactly," Christine sighed, leaning her head back against the chair. "When I turned fourteen, Raoul stopped visiting. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I learned the reasons why," Christine muttered. "The marriage contract; Father claims it was planned even before I was born, that should my mother have a daughter and King Claude have a son, the two of us were to be married."

Meg's brow furrowed at this news. "Why then, do you think, they did not tell you before—"

"Mother died when I was sixteen," Christine whispered, sadness filling her voice at the memory. "Apparently…she had noticed the familial relationship between Raoul and myself, and that was why he stopped coming when I was fourteen; she knew, even before I did, that it would be even harder to have the two of us marry, if we thought of ourselves as nothing more than brother and sister. She thought that by putting distance between ourselves, we would welcome the idea of marriage more…or at least that I would welcome it more," Christine whispered. "But my feelings towards Raoul have not grown into anything more than friendship and brotherly love. And after my mother died, Father revealed to me the truth about the marriage contract, and told me that I must marry Prince Raoul…and…" she looked down at her feet. "I fought it, I pulled some of the most elaborate tantrums that would make any toddler proud…although I confess, I am _not_ proud of my behavior," she grumbled. "Thanks to Fredrick, who sympathized with me then, Father was able to convince King Claude to hold off on the marriage until a later time. And then we all became distracted, thanks to Fredrick choosing a most excellent bride to be his future queen," Christine grinned, her eyes twinkling as she gazed back at Meg.

Meg looked away, a deep blush blossoming across her cheek. "Oh Christine, you flatter me too much," she scolded, although she couldn't help but smile at her sister-in-law's kind words.

"Nonsense," Christine stated, trying to sound like her brother, which only made Meg laugh all the more. "I do not believe you I could flatter you enough, my dear." Both women burst into a fit of giggles, but Christine gazed back at her friend and felt a tender smile lift at the corners of her mouth. Christine was seventeen when she met Meg, and Meg was only a year older. Yet Christine, as well as the rest of the royal family, soon learned that Meg possessed a maturity that would bring the wisest counselor to shame. Though she did not know it at the time, Christine soon learned that she had been longing for a sister all her life, someone to whom she could confide in, in a way that her brother or any other friend could ever possibly understand.

"Oh Christine," Meg sighed, turning and smiling at her friend. "I am so happy you are back. I know that may sound selfish on my part—"

"Oh Meg, no, no, you're not the selfish one," Christine sighed, feeling ashamed of her actions. "It was selfish of me to run away. I behaved just like a spoiled child, therefore I shouldn't be surprised that Father refuses to listen to me," she groaned.

Meg squeezed Christine's hand. "Perhaps it will not be as bad as you think? I mean, it sounds as if you and Prince Raoul have a great deal in common?"

"Oh Meg," Christine sighed and turned her head to look out the window. "I wish…I mean, I want to believe that…this would be so much easier if I could believe that…" she sighed and turned back to face her friend. "You and Fredrick were lucky; you didn't know each other the way I know Raoul, and of course it didn't take my brother long to fall in love with you," Christine grinned. Meg was truly what someone would call "the perfect princess"; she had poise, manners, gracefulness, and the sweetest nature a person could have. She was also very beautiful, with long golden hair, and soft green eyes that reminded Christine of mountain meadows, newly grown in the spring. Meg was soft and sweet, light and delicate…nothing at all like her.

Meg blushed, her hand lovingly resting atop her belly. "It didn't take me very long to fall in love with Fredrick," she confessed, blushing and smiling at the memory of their first meeting. But her smile faded as she saw the sadness in her friend's blue eyes. "And you don't believe it is possible for you to feel that sort of love with Prince Raoul?"

Christine sighed and shook her head. "I've tried to think of him in the way a wife would think of a husband…but…Meg, I just…I confess, I envy what you and Fredrick have, what my father and my mother had! I…" she looked out the window and watched as two mourning doves briefly landed, upon the sill. "I want the man that I marry, to be a man that I love…deeply, passionately, fully, and with my whole heart." She watched as the two doves flew away, cooing as they went. She turned her face back to her sister-in-law, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Irony can be cruel, don't you think?"

Meg's brow furrowed with confusion, as well as with concern. "What do you mean?"

Christine sighed and slowly rose from the chair. "We who are royalty, are envied by the people for so many different things…and yet, I confess, I envy _them_ for the small freedoms that they possess."

Meg rose to her feet and laid a gentle hand on Christine's shoulder. "No daughter has complete freedom, my dear. From the richest king, to the poorest servant, all fathers have the final say to who their daughters can marry..."

It was a bitter truth that Christine could not deny. It seemed hopeless, really. The King of Roanland was demanding that the marriage contract be fulfilled, and her father was stating that it would take place, on the eve before her twentieth birthday. Raoul was a good man, and she did love him…but not the way he deserved to be loved. Yet what could she do? An insult like this could push King Claude to sever Roanland's ties with Eastergard…or worse. She did not want to marry Prince Raoul…but it was not worth going to war over.

"Come," Meg whispered, wrapping her arm around Christine's shoulder. "Let's get you out of those clothes and into something a little more…'traditional'."

Christine looked down at her peasant boy garb. "It's actually not that bad; I can't deny that it is rather comfortable…especially for riding."

Meg shook her head, laughter bubbling out of her throat. "Oh Christine," she sighed, grinning at her sister-in-law. "I'm not even going to ask how you got your hands on them."

That was probably for the best; no doubt the poor stable lad was shocked to discover, after rising from his secret evening swim in the palace trout pond, to find his clothes missing.

"Oh! And did you really ride all that way without shoes?"

Christine looked down at her feet, and then reached inside her vest to pull out one of her fancy, silver slippers. "No; I simply wore the ones that I had worn that evening at dinner," she grumbled. The shoes were beautiful, a gift her mother had given her just before she died, and one of the few pieces of "traditional princess attire" that Christine didn't mind. She loved those shoes, to tell the truth, and wore them constantly, even if they didn't go with the gown her maid laid out for her.

Meg frowned as she gazed at the single slipper. "Where is the other?"

Christine bit her lip. She hadn't told anyone, not even Fredrick, about her mysterious attack in the forest. After she had managed to fight off the cloaked stranger, in her haste to get back on her horse, Christine lost one of her shoes. She couldn't go back for it, although she was dearly tempted, but she had been so shaken by her encounter with the dark stranger, that she didn't dare try. Somewhere, in a forest near Eastergard's seaport, lay her other slipper…

"I lost it," Christine mumbled. "Probably when I was riding."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Meg sympathized, knowing how much Christine loved those shoes.

"It's alright," Christine whispered, trying to keep her spirits from sinking further. "I have no one to blame but myself for losing it."

"Well, I'm just glad that you're back, safe and sound. Imagine if some brute found you, alone, and you were seized!?"

Christine practically stumbled.

"Oh! Careful my dear, I do believe they recently washed the floors in this hall."

* * *

Celeste wiped her brow along the sleeve of her tunic, as she stirred the large, boiling pot of laundry. Her back ached, her limbs ached, and even her head ached! A groan escaped her throat as she stared at the large mending basket, which she hadn't even begun.

"The bed sheets are finally dry!" announced a young woman's voice, from just behind her. Celeste turned to the young woman who had just entered the kitchen, her long raven hair pulled back in a braid and wrapped in a scarf. She entered the kitchen, her apron full of red and green apples that she had collected from the orchard, just behind the house.

"Thank you for checking, Julia," Celeste muttered, wiping her brow once more. "I'm still working on what's left of Thomas' shirts. Best you go ahead and fold the sheets, then bring them upstairs to her ladyship's bedchamber."

Julia froze at her mother's suggestion. "Mama…I…I can't go up there…" she bit her lip and nervously glanced toward the stairs. "Not when Thomas is up there, by himself."

Celeste frowned. "He hasn't done anything, has he? Or tried to do anything?" Fear gripped the old woman's heart at her daughter's words.

"No, no, but…" Julia trembled, the nightmare of what had happened all those years ago still fresh in her mind.

"Then we'll do them together, you and I, but you best hurry and bring them inside—"

Celeste froze as the sound of a carriage could be heard coming down the pebbled path that led to the front gates of Ravenskeep Château. The old woman's face paled and Julia flew to a nearby window, gasping as she watched the carriage slowly pull up to the front of the house. "It's the Countess!" Julia hissed. "She's home!"

"Lord have mercy," Celeste groaned, before quickly crossing herself. "I don't know which is worse…her being gone, and leaving that imp of a son of hers in charge…or her being here, and strutting around like a peacock while we slave away for her."

Julia didn't say anything, but she knew which atmosphere she preferred…although it too, was extremely miserable.

"Mother! Where have you been!?" wailed a man's voice from the château doorway. Both women paused in their work to listen to the conversation unfold between the Countess and her spoiled son.

A tall, skinny man, who looked be well over a hundred, slowly climbed down from the driving seat of the carriage, and seemed to move even slower to open the door. A groan of annoyance could be heard inside the carriage, and the door burst open from the inside. "Just take it away," the Countess grumbled to the driver, helping herself down from the carriage.

"MOTHER!"

The Countess gave an irritated sigh, but quickly put on a smile, before turning to face the man who was addressing her.

Despite his whiny voice, Thomas Montoya was nothing like the piggish little boy he had once been. He had grown up, at least in matters of size; he was fairly tall and broad shouldered, and his strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back away from his face, mainly so that he could show off the moustache and beard that moved around his mouth and covered his chin. He was very proud of this feature, thinking it made him look extremely manly and powerful, not to mention regal. He was desperately trying to look regal…

Thomas was not an ugly man, not in appearance, at least. Some would certainly consider him handsome, and there were several noble families that lived near Ravenskeep, whose daughters had certainly taken an interest in him. Yet Thomas had his sights set…higher. And his mother encouraged him to only pursue the best.

"Mummy was busy, darling," Dominique cooed, reaching out and patting her son's cheek, before continuing past him to enter the house.

Thomas, however, was not going to be easily pushed aside. "I know where you went, Mother, and it never takes you _that_ long to travel back! Where on earth have you been!?"

The Countess closed her eyes and summoned all the patience she could muster; her son's voice never seemed to have caught up with the rest of him. "Don't pout, darling, it's not becoming."

"But Mother—"

"THOMAS!" Dominique growled, whirling around and catching his eyes in a deadly glare. Thomas immediately took a step back, any other words that were in his throat, quickly dying away. Dominique's face immediately softened, and with a gentle hand, she reached out and caressed her son's cheek. "I simply chose…to take the scenic route, my dear, that is all." It was not entirely untrue; she had taken a longer route home, mainly because she could not stand her son's infernal whining.

Thomas stuck his lower lip out, like that of any small child, and folded his arms across his chest. "But Mother…we have to do something, quickly! There is still word that Princess Christine is going to marry that pig from Roanland," he muttered, before pouting.

The Countess rolled her eyes. "Thomas, death is the only thing we are assured about in life…everything else is up to chance, including royal marriages." She undid the clasp on her traveling cloak, allowing her hair to fall down her back, and turned to hand the cloak to someone…which immediately caused her to frown. "Where are the servants?"

"Who cares," Thomas grumbled, still pouting.

The Countess ignored her son and marched over the door that led to the kitchens. "CELESTE! JULIA! GET UP HERE THIS INSTANT!" she groaned and turned her attentions back towards her son. "Honestly…the help these days!"

Within a matter of seconds, both Celeste and Julia were hurrying up the stairs that led down to the kitchens, to greet their newly returned mistress. "My lady," Celeste curtsied, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from telling the Countess what she really thought of her. Julia also curtsied, and quickly moved to take Dominique's cloak.

"Why must I shout when I want you, hmm?" the Countess moaned. "As my servants, you should have been at the doorway, ready to greet your mistress upon her return home."

"Yes, milady," both Julia and Celeste mumbled under their breath.

The Countess' eyes narrowed into deep slits as she gazed back at them both. "I do hope I will not have to deal with the two of you the way I had to deal with Duncan…"

Celeste's face darkened at the woman's words, and she lifted her head, her eyes sending daggers at the noblewoman, but Julia was the one to quickly step in and intervene. "Would like some tea sent to your room, after your long journey, milady?"

The Countess didn't miss Celeste's hateful glare, but she turned towards Julia and put on a sweet smile, which any fool could tell was fake. "That would be lovely, my dear. It's so good to see that some people's bad influence have not rubbed off entirely onto you, Julia."

Celeste's teeth were grinding against one another, but Julia simply curtsied, before grabbing her mother by the shoulders and purposefully pushing her back towards the kitchens. The Countess watched the two leave and smiled, feeling rather triumphant.

"Mother, we need to focus!" Thomas groaned, brining her attention back to him, yet again.

"Darling, please, you don't need to shout," the Countess sighed wearily. "Mummy has a headache."

"I heard it from the Marquis Ladue! He often goes to court, and he told me that the marriage between Roanland and Eastergard is still on the cards! Mother…you assured me that _I_ would marry Princess Christine! That _I_ would be King!"

The Countess summoned all her patience once more. "My dear, even if you do marry Princess Christine, you are not guaranteed the throne."

"_Even_ if I marry Princess Christine?" Thomas growled. "Mother, you _promised_ me—"

"Thomas!" the Countess shouted, her hands reaching out and gripping her son's shoulders. "I know what I promised…and it _will_ happen. You will become a prince of Eastergard, you will have the Princess for your bride…just…be patient, alright?" she cooed, her hands once more caressing her son's cheeks. "Let Mummy think, alright?"

Thomas' eyes narrowed. "And what about becoming king?"

"One step at a time, my dear," the Countess muttered. "Let's not be too hasty."

Both Celeste and Julia listened through the opened door as the two villains discussed Thomas' fairy tale future. "Vile demons, that's what they are," Celeste grumbled. "Serves them right if they're arrested for treason."

Julia nodded her head in agreement, although there was another pensive look in her eyes. "Yet…if Thomas can marry the Princess…that means he'll be gone! And the Countess will surely go with him, I can't imagine her choosing to stay here, when she could live in a palace."

Celeste simply grunted her agreement.

"Why…that means we'll be free of them! The château will be ours, once more!"

Celeste sighed, wanting to find the idea happy, but ever since Duncan had been sent away…no, ever since the Earl had died, it was hard to be happy about anything.

"WHERE ARE MY SHEETS!?"

Both Celeste and Julia cringed at the shrill shout of their mistress. "And I thought she had a headache," the old woman grumbled.

"I'll go fetch the sheets," Julia sighed, grabbing an empty laundry basket and hurrying out the back door that led to the apple orchards, where clothesline could be found. The Countess was insane, thinking that two women could do all the work of an entire château, especially with the outrageous demands that she and her son made! Julia grabbed hold of one of the sheets and tugged it harshly off the clothesline, before throwing it into the basket, not even bothering to fold it. How she wished her father were home! He always lifted her and her mother's spirits, even upon the worst of times. Julia sighed and took hold of another bed sheet, pulling it off the clothesline to place in the basket…and jumping as she realized someone was standing right behind it!

"AH-MMM!" A large, strong hand covered her mouth, and another strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. She struggled against the dark stranger, beating her fists against his massive chest, trying to get herself free!

"Julia! Hush! It's me! Stop struggling, please!"

Julia was fully prepared to bite the stranger's hand…but paused as she listened to the voice…that, in an odd way, sounded hauntingly familiar…and she looked up at the hooded face…and through the hood's shadows, saw a pair of familiar, dark eyes…that had an even more familiar golden glow about them.

Her struggles stopped, and the stranger's hand slowly moved away from her mouth, and then pushed his hood back, revealing his masked face. "Erik…?"

A large smile spread across Erik's face as he gazed upon the girl he had always thought of as a sister. "Yes, Julia, it's me."

Julia gasped and her hands flew to her mouth as she took in the sight of the long-lost friend who she hadn't seen in fifteen years! "But…" her hands flew to his shoulders, as if touching him would confirm for her that this wasn't a dream. "How…how can this be?"

"I was finally able to escape my hellish prison," he explained, smiling down at her. "And I have been traveling here with great haste, hardly stopping, if I could."

"Oh Erik…" Julia gripped his shoulders, her look of surprise finally giving way to a happy smile. "Oh Erik!" she cried, throwing her arms around him and hugging him fiercely, laughing as she felt his own strong arms lift her off the ground and hug her back. "Oh Erik, we've missed you so much! It's so good to have you back!"

"Hush, Julia, we must keep our voices down," Erik murmured into her ear, not wanting to draw attention to himself from the house. He had every intention of confronting the Countess, but he wanted a battle plan first…

"Did you travel all this way on foot!?" she gasped, thinking about the long journey from Ravenskeep to Eastargard's seaport.

"I confess, I had a little help…" Erik murmured, turning his head just slightly to where a lone, brown horse stood, munching on some fallen apples. He had found the horse grazing in a pasture, about five miles from the forest. This time he made extra sure that there were no other riders, before taking it.

"Well, I don't care how you got here, I'm just so glad you're back!" she grinned, hugging him again. "Oh Erik, look at you!" Julia giggled, her feet finding the ground once more, as she gazed upon the man who she had always thought of as a protective older brother. "My goodness, you've grown!" Erik was massive! Tall, broad, and very muscular; she had no doubt who would win, if either he or Thomas got into another fight.

Erik grinned down at her. "You've hardly changed; still just as beautiful as you were when I last saw you."

Julia blushed and giggled, before swatting him on the arm. "Well, I may not be able to whip you as I could when we were children, but I bet I could still out run you," she challenged.

Erik only laughed. "I'm sure you could…in fact, I'm sure you could still whip me if you tried…" Julia laughed at his words, but Erik's humorous smile faded slightly, as his fingers gently touched the side of his head where he had been hit by the peasant girl's tree branch. He stifled the painful groan that threatened to escape his chest, as he recalled _the other place_, where she had hit him.

"Oh, I must go and fetch Mama at once!" Julia gasped. "She'll want to see you, she'll—"

"Julia!" Celeste's voice filled the orchard, and both Julia and Erik jumped at the woman's stern tone. "Julia, she is shouting more and more for those sheets, she—" the old woman paused…as slowly, she took in the sight of the dark giant that stood beside her daughter, a black mask covering his face…but leaving those familiar eyes for all the world to see…

"My God…" Celeste gasped, her eyes growing wider and wider as she stared at the man before her. "It can't be…it can't be!"

"It is," Julia grinned, going to her mother's side and wrapping her arm around the old woman's shoulders. "He's come home, Mama!"

"Celeste," Erik took a step towards the woman who had spent so many long hours during her busy life, raising him. She was the closest thing he had to a mother in this world…

"Oh! Erik!" Celeste cried, joyful tears streaming down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, despite her smaller and frailer form beside his massive one.

Erik hugged her back, although his arms were gentler. "I'm back, Celeste, and I swear to you, nothing is going to tear me away from this place, ever again."

"Oh my dear boy," Celeste sighed, her hands gripping his shoulders and smiling up at him through her tear-filled eyes. "Oh how we have missed you! I tried to learn what became of you, but the Countess would never say anything—"

"None of that matters anymore," Erik whispered, his fingers gently falling across the old woman's mouth. "As I said, I am back and I am letting no one, ever again, separate us." He smiled back and forth between the two of them, but a frown quickly fell across his face, and his eyes lifted towards the house. "Where is Duncan?"

Both Julia and Celeste froze at Erik's question, something that he did not miss, and the two women exchanged glances, before lifting their saddened eyes to his once more.

"Papa…is not here…" Julia softly whispered.

"What do you mean?" Erik asked, his voice sounding grave. Duncan couldn't be dead, he couldn't be!

Celeste wiped her eyes as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "The Countess sold him, nearly a month ago."

Erik felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "Sold him!? To who!?"

"The King," Julia quietly explained. "She sold him as…as a way to pay the debt on her taxes…" her voice drifted away into a whisper.

"Vile woman," Celeste growled. "She and her son spend money as if it grows on trees! Then they act shocked that they are in debt!"

Erik felt his hands clench into tight, angry fists. "This is not the first time, I take it."

"No," Julia whispered. "Mama and I are the only two servants left. All the others were turned out to pay the debts to…" she paused for a moment. "To pay your father's debt…to Captain Conrad."

Erik tasted blood in his mouth; he had been biting the inside of his cheek in order to keep his rage in check.

"All of the Earl's possessions…she's practically sold them all!" Celeste muttered. "Your father's books, the tapestries, the paintings, even the wedding dress that once belonged to your mother that he kept hidden away in a trunk beneath his bed…she's sold them all!"

A snarl escaped Erik's throat and he gripped a nearby tree, his fingers digging into the bark. "And now she sells people…just like Conrad," he growled, his eyes fixed on the house just ahead. "She's responsible for my father's death…and she took great joy with destroying my life. I will not see her destroy another…"

"Erik, what are you saying?"

Erik looked down at Celeste and then at Julia. "You say Duncan has been sold to the King? Does that mean he's at the palace?"

"I…I don't know," Celeste sighed, feeling absolutely defeated. "I don't even think the Countess knows, not that she cares," she grumbled.

"Well that settles it," Erik growled.

Julia looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said," he explained. "I'm going to go to the palace, find Duncan, and bring him home."

Celeste and Julia gasped, before exchanging horrified…and hopeful glances. "Erik, it's too dangerous!" Celeste hissed. "We don't even know if he's even at the palace, the King may have sent him to…" her face paled at the very thought. "He may have been shipped off to the colonies!"

"I'll find him," Erik vowed, not caring about the obstacles. "I'll find him and bring him home to you, Celeste, I promise."

"But Erik!" Julia hissed. "Even if you do find Papa, how will you pay for him? They are not going to simply release him!"

"No…but perhaps this will help?" from within the folds of his cloak, Erik pulled out a small object, one which caused both women to gasp as they gazed upon it.

A shoe! A woman's slipper! And not simply any shoe…but one sewn out of ivory silk, with silver lining, jeweled toes, and what looked to be a glass heal. It shimmered in the midday sun, like a diamond.

"Where…where did you get that!?" Celeste gasped, her fingers tenderly moving across the jewels on the slipper.

"Believe it or not, I found it," Erik muttered. "In a forest of all places."

Julia's brow creased with confusion. "What a strange place to find such a slipper. I mean, who would own such a thing, other than royalty!?"

Erik said nothing. After finally finding the strength to stand from his unexpected attack by the girl dressed as a peasant boy, he found the shoe several feet away, about the same place where she had mounted the horse that he had planned on taking back to Ravenskeep. He would have missed the slipper if the sun had not broken through the branches above, and shown its light upon the glittering object; it was so tiny! It appeared that the girl was not only a horse thief, but another sort of thief as well. Perhaps that was why she was dressed so peculiarly?

"You mean to use this shoe as a way to pay for Papa's release?" Julia asked.

"Why not?" Erik muttered, looking down at the slipper before once more tucking it inside his cloak. "Those look like diamonds to me; it's surely worth something." It angered him that there were people in the world that thought that human beings could be bought at a price, but right now, he would have to play that game if he wanted to get Duncan back.

"Erik, if they see you with that shoe, dressed as you are now…" Celeste looked at him and felt a deep blush flood her cheeks as she realized he wasn't wearing a shirt beneath his cloak, and his breeches were made out of torn burlap. "They'll think you're nothing more than a common thief, and arrest you on the spot!"

"Not unless we do something to change that," Julia whispered, an idea forming in her head. She looked over her shoulder at an opposite clothesline, where several of Thomas' tunics were drying. "You put one of these on, and they're bound to think that you're nobility!"

"Erik _is_ nobility," Celeste growled, lifting her chin high. "He's the _true_ Earl of Ravenskeep…and by God, it's time he looks like one."

"Yes, but he can't reveal himself if they ask who he is!" Julia hissed. She turned apologetic eyes to her friend. "I'm sorry Erik, but…the Countess has been telling everyone for years that _Thomas_ is the Earl of Ravenskeep; if you go to the palace and say—"

"It's alright, I understand," Erik reassured her, although it made his blood boil to learn that the pig that was his stepbrother, was now wearing his father's title. That would all change, he would see to it. But right now, all that mattered was finding, and getting Duncan back home.

"I don't know…" Celeste muttered, looking at Thomas' tunics. "Thomas isn't the little piggy boy that he once was, Erik; he's grown up too…although he's by no means as large as you," she mumbled as she took one of the tunics and held it up to Erik's massive shoulders. It was obvious that the shirt wouldn't fit.

"But Mama," Julia grinned, wrapping her arms around her mother's shoulders. "That's why God blessed you with a talent for knitting and mending."

Celeste rolled her eyes at her daughter's words, but looked upon the tunic thoughtfully, before lifting her eyes once more to Erik's. "You…you really think you can find him?"

"I swear, Celeste," Erik vowed. "I will find your husband and Julia's father, and I will bring him back to you both. And then I will do everything in my power to reclaim Ravenskeep, my title, my father's possessions, and see those two villains pay for all that they have done to us." His voice was a low, dangerous growl, one that caused both Celeste and Julia to tremble at the sound.

"Well…" Celeste glanced at her daughter, who smiled back at her, her eyes filled with hope from Erik's bold and firm declaration. "We best get started, then."


	6. The Princess and the Duke

**Summary: **Christine ponders what her future will bring, and Erik prepares himself for his journey to the palace. Yet no amount of thinking or planning truly prepares either one of them for the chance encounter that takes place...

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_The Princess and the Duke_**

King Leonard was sitting at the breakfast table in his chambers, sipping his tea and chewing on his eggs, when a thunderous knock was heard on the other side of his door. He dabbed his chin with a napkin, before muttering a somewhat annoyed, "enter!" He did not like being disturbed during his early morning meal…but was rather surprised to see who it was on the other side of the door.

"Good morning, Father," Christine greeted, entering the room before the page even had the opportunity to announce her. This was the first time she and Leonard had spoken to each other, much less seen each other, since the other day, when she returned to the royal palace. She had spent the rest of her day in her room, not coming down for any meals, which Leonard felt was for the best, since he was still fuming with anger. But now, his anger had subsided, and he couldn't help but look at his daughter with fatherly love and admiration. She was dressed properly once more, much to his relief, in a lovely silver-blue gown with gold embroidery and white lace. Her brown hair shimmered once more, after being properly washed from her long day's journey, and her face looked clean and fresh, a lovely rosy hue coloring her cheeks. Princess Christine was quite pretty…when she tried.

"Christine," Leonard greeted back, before rising from his chair to receive his daughter's hand, who obediently curtsied before him. Something was up; he could sense it! "And what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning, my dear?"

Christine didn't reply, she simply held out a small piece of folded paper.

Leonard looked puzzled, and took the paper from her hands. "What is this?"

"The letter you requested, sir," she simply answered.

"The letter I requested?" he asked, still not understanding.

"The letter you asked me to write to His Royal Highness, Prince Raoul of Roanland," Christine clarified, her voice still lacking emotion, other than duty.

Leonard was surprised that she had done what he had asked; he thought surely he would have to fight with her over this! "T-thank you," he stuttered, mainly from the surprise of it all.

"You will notice," Christine sighed, pointing to the letter, "that I did not seal it—I thought it best, thinking you would no doubt wish to check and read it over, yourself."

A stranger would think that his daughter was simply being polite and helpful with this information, but Leonard knew better. He felt the slap in her words, the biting sarcasm which spoke volumes. "Thank you," he mumbled under his breath. "But I trust you and your penmanship."

Christine simply curtsied. "Thank you, sir. I will take my leave then."

She turned and was about to go out the still opened door, when Leonard called out for her. "Just a moment!"

Christine paused, and then slowly turned to face him. "Yes, Father?"

Leonard made a gesture to the guards who stood by the door, and they immediately shut the chamber doors, leaving the King and his daughter in peace. "Christine…I do not wish for there to be war between us."

Christine sighed and looked down at the floor. "Father—"

"Please," he interrupted, before swallowing the lump in his throat and looking down at his own feet. "Let me just say this." Christine could tell that this was not going to be a lecture, but rather, her father had something he truly needed to get off his chest, something that was bothering him greatly. "I know that…well, as of late, you've been feeling the pressure, about marrying…and perhaps it's my own fault, for treating you too much like a child all those years—

"Father, you did not 'baby me' if that is what you are worrying about," Christine interrupted. "I…I know arranged marriages could work, as they did for you and Mother—"

"Yes, that's right, they _can_ work, as you've seen with Fredrick and Meg! I mean, have you ever seen a more happy, more loving couple?"

Christine sighed and shook her head. "No, Father; they are the perfect example of a happy, arranged marriage." Yet it wasn't the idea of arranged marriages that bothered her, it was the envy that she felt towards Fredrick and Meg, and the yearning to feel and experience what they had…and the sad belief that she would not find that with Raoul.

The King sighed, and took his daughter's hands into his own. "I love you, Christine, you are my precious jewel, the sweet youthful spirit that brings me joy in my old age," he whispered with a smile, although his smile began to grow sad. "I just…I am not getting any younger, my dear…and…well, I won't be around forever—"

"Father, don't—"

"Let me finish, please," he whispered. "I just want to see that you're taken care of, before I go. I want to see you in your wedding dress, walking down the aisle towards your future husband. And Prince Raoul…he's a good man, you and I both know that, and I know that he will take care of you and provide for you and…" he paused, feeling the emotion bubble up in his throat. "I just…I want to see you happy, my dear."

Christine's heart was screaming. He wanted to see her happy…but how could she be happy by marrying a man she didn't love? Yet it broke her heart, hearing her father's words and his reasons for wishing to see her marry. And maybe she really was being too selfish? _Father is right, Raoul is a good man, and he would make a wonderful husband and father—_

Christine's thoughts came to a halt at the idea of Raoul being the father of her children. No doubt Raoul would be a wonderful father…but the idea of…of…_lying with Raoul_ was just too much! God help her, she didn't love him! She was trying to force the idea into her mind, but no matter how hard she tried…it just wouldn't work! Raoul, wonderful, handsome Raoul…truly, was like another older brother to her, and her heart refused to see or think of him as anything else.

"I just…I wanted to apologize for all the pressure I know I have been placing upon you, but…I do think that this meeting between the two of you for Eastergard's Birthday Festival, will do you some good, don't you agree?" Leonard was biting his lip, hoping and praying that he would see a smile form on his daughter's face. And smile she did…although he could tell that it was forced.

"Yes, Father…it has been some time since I've seen him last…" she whispered, her eyes looking anywhere save in her father's. One look would tell him everything. "Well, I think I best return to my chambers now; I'm sorry for disturbing you at breakfast," Christine murmured, and without any other words, picked up her skirts and left her father's chambers, trying very hard to control her emotions as she went.

She was moving very quickly down the hallway, her head lifted slightly to keep the tears that were swimming in the back of her eyes from descending down her cheeks. _Stop it, stop it right now! There's no use in crying, what good will that do, other than make you feel even more miserable! _

"Would you care for a handkerchief, Your Highness?"

Christine paused in her fast-paced walking…and turned around to face "the shadow" she had acquired ever since she had returned to the palace. "Thank you, Neville, but I am fine," she murmured, forcing yet another smile across her face.

Neville was one of the palace's royal guards. He was tall, with curly red hair, a red beard, and kind brown eyes. He had a soldier's build, as that was his occupation before he was assigned to work as a guard in the palace. And while he was a man in his early forties, he looked to be a good ten years younger, especially when he smiled, as he was doing now. "Very well, Your Highness," he said with a bow of his head, before tucking the offered handkerchief back inside his tunic. "My mistake then."

Christine smiled softly, and then continued walking, with Neville close behind. She listened to his footsteps, noting the abnormal sound of his limp. "How is your leg today?" she enquired. She knew that poor Neville sometimes suffered from stiff joints, especially in his wounded leg.

"Much better today, thank you," he replied. "Old war wounds…sometimes they heal completely, and then sometimes they give you trouble, like my leg. But I don't mind; when I was younger, I lived for marching and the excitement of battle, but I'm an older, wiser man now," he chuckled.

"Yes, but still, I doubt the thought of playing 'nursemaid' to a princess was what you had in mind when you took your orders as palace guard. Not the most exciting job, I imagine."

Neville only chuckled more. "I don't know; you're not like other princesses, if you don't mind me saying so. You certainly keep a guard on his toes, Your Highness."

Christine actually smiled at Neville's words. "Thank you, I take that as a great compliment."

Neville only laughed. "I'm sure you do."

Christine smiled and then looked at the guard with curious eyes. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Neville's brown eyes widened with curiosity. "Of course. Your Highness' wish is my command."

Christine smiled, but it soon began to fade, and she folded her arms across her chest as she continued walking. "How important…do you think it is that…that two married people love one another?"

Neville's red brows knit together in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

Christine sighed. "Why is it that you are not married, Neville? Is it because you have not yet found a woman that you love? Completely? Wholly? Passionately?"

Neville's face began to grow bright red, almost rivaling the color of his hair. "W-w-well…I confess, I have not had many opportunities to…to meet—"

"But if you did," Christine went on. "Wouldn't you think it important that the woman you meet was not only a woman that you greatly respected and enjoyed her company…but that you also felt…love for?"

The guard paused in his movement and gazed upon Christine with curious eyes. "What is it that troubles you, Your Highness?"

Christine sighed and looked down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of blue velvet slippers, which were quite comfortable…but nothing like her mother's shoes. "Nothing, it doesn't matter," she whispered, before lifting her head and forcing on a smile. "Thank you for walking me back to my chambers, Neville. I'm sure you have more important things to do than stand by my door…"

"There is no duty greater, than protecting one's monarch and his children," Neville dutifully declared, with a salute.

Christine couldn't help but roll her eyes. "But Father only assigned you to stand by my door because he feared I would try to run away again, which I assure you, I am _not_ going to do."

"I am not saying that you are a liar, Your Highness, but only the King himself, can discharge me from my duty…and until he does that, I will guard my post."

Ever the good soldier. Christine didn't bother to argue, there would be no victory for her, so instead she murmured her "good bye" and shut the door behind her.

Christine's chamber was massive, however it dwarfed in size compared to her brother's and her father's royal chambers. There was a small parlor with tables, chairs, and a settee, just off to the side of her bedroom. She had a huge bed, and Christine often complained as a child that it was far too big for one person. However, the massive sheets to cover such a bed certainly came in handy when Christine needed to escape…off of the balcony. Large, white lace curtains surrounded the bed, and Christine pulled them back, before collapsing onto the bed, kicking her slippers off, and staring at the elaborate artwork atop her ceiling. Nearby was a fireplace, and despite the warm late spring weather, a fire was crackling inside. Christine rolled over until she was on her stomach, and stared at the fire for a long time…before reaching down…and pulling a small box, out from under her bed.

The box was normally kept beneath a loose floorboard, just under her bed, but after retreating to her room yesterday, Christine had been going through the contents inside the box…reading them, and then throwing them into the fire. If one looked closely, they would see burnt paper shreds, among the ashes.

With a sigh, Christine opened one of the folded pieces of paper from within the box.

_Dearest Christine,_

_I do hope that when this letter reaches you, you are in the best of health. Father is growing more and more concerned, constantly asking me if I have received word from you, yet. I have been trying, to no avail it seems, to calm his worries, telling him that you are very busy with helping your sister-in-law prepare for the birth of her firstborn, yet he claims that the Princess has servants who can help her, and there is no need for a Princess of Eastergard to be behaving in such a way. Sadly, I think most of the reason as to why my father is pestering me more and more to write is because of my mother, who keeps demanding to know why I have not received word from you, as well._

_Oh please know that I am not saying you must write, forgive me if I am coming across that way, this is by no means an attempt to guilt you into writing. I understand your feelings, my dear Christine, for they are very much like my own. You are a dear friend to me, and dare I say, more dear to me than any of my sisters? I know that may sound strange, but it's true; growing up I felt more of a connection, more of a special bond with you than I ever had with any of them. They were bred from the day of their birth to be princesses; spoiled, demanding princesses, who put on airs of charm and grace when it best suits them. But you, you Christine are more of a princess than they will ever be, you valiantly stand by those you love, you cry out for justice, and I know that if a dragon or any mystical beast attacked, you would be the first to climb atop a horse, and ride off to slay the monster. You have a true, good heart, and that is what makes you a princess, I think. _

_I do hope that you are well. I know that for a while you and I were exchanging messages, yet I know you have been reluctant since I last wrote you to, telling you how my mother found your letter, and demanded to know why you spoke so 'informally' to me. Yet I cannot deny, my dear Christine, how much I miss your letters. God be with you and your family, and best wishes to your brother and his wife. _

_Affectionately, _

_Raoul_

The letter was two months old. Raoul had written several more between that period and now, although they were much shorter. No doubt his family were now sneaking peaks at his letters, just as she knew her father longed to do. Raoul's family, however, were ten times more conniving, and would not even question their actions as an invasion of privacy.

With a heavy heart, Christine crumpled the old letter and threw it into the fire. She was trapped, it seemed; both of them were. Trapped in a loveless marriage. Yes, she greatly respected him, yes, she admired him, and yes, she thought him to be charming and handsome and wonderful, the perfect husband, a prince out of a fairy tale!

But she didn't love him, not the way he deserved to be loved. And she would make him a terrible wife, on so many different levels! Raoul needed someone elegant, someone graceful, and someone beautiful! His letters were sweet, telling her he thought she was a true princess, but sadly, he was the only man in the world who truly shared that opinion. He was going to be king of Roanland when his father died…and Christine was not queen material; anyone could tell that, in fact she knew that his own mother and sisters were not entirely thrilled with the prospect of having her in that role, let alone in that family.

But a contract was a contract, no matter how unjust it felt. And there just didn't seem to be any escape.

* * *

Erik was nervous; extremely nervous. He was slowly making his way on horseback towards the royal palace of Eastergard…and his hands were literally shaking. Was this truly the only way to rescue Duncan? Yet the more he thought about it…it seemed that the answer was…yes. And he would do it, he would save the man who had helped with raising him and who had looked after him long after his father had died…he just wished that there was another way, an easier way of rescuing the old man, than by exposing himself to the public eye.

All night long he had been tossing and turning, consumed by thoughts and worries of what the morning would hold. He had spent the night in the hayloft of the barn, just beyond the château, which was risky in its own way, as it was constantly visited by a boney old man who moved slower than tree sap. He later learned from Celeste that the man worked for another noble family that lived close by, but had been "leant" to the Countess to take her about in her carriage, right after Duncan had been sold. That was another thing that kept Erik awake, the worry of being discovered. It was not safe to stay at Ravenskeep, not until he had a plan. He did not care so much for himself, but he did not want to get Celeste or Julia into any trouble; he needed to find some other place to stay, but where?

He would think about that later…right now, he could see the city gates up ahead.

The walls that guarded Eastergard's capital city were vast and wide, concealing a great deal if you were standing outside them, however Erik remembered as a young boy, climbing a tree atop a high hill that overlooked the city, and from that tree he could see beyond the walls, and see all the shops that lined the interior of the wall, each with their own peddlers, stopping people here and there to sell their wares. There were tall buildings as well, which he assumed to be houses. He could see farmers bringing in and leading their flocks around the busy square, beggars stopping the occasional passer, hoping to gain a few copper coins, and well dressed men and women of noble rank, who carried themselves with a grace and an air that would put the proudest peacock to shame. And of course, there was the palace itself, a mighty looking fortress of gray and white brick, whose walls were even higher and wider than the walls that surrounded the city. Erik always wondered what it looked like inside the palace, or at least what it looked like beyond its own gates…

He was about to find out.

Erik took a deep breath and pulled up the hood and collar of his dark traveling cloak, hoping to conceal his masked face for as long as it was possible. He glanced down at himself, looking over his clothes once more. Celeste undid all the stitches on Thomas' tunic, expanding it in the shoulders and arms so his own large frame could wear it. She had done a decent job; however it still felt somewhat tight. He squared his shoulders, trying to put on the air of a snobby nobleman, and puffed out his chest slightly, so that the guards would be able to see his tunic, and hopefully judge him for what he was by just glancing at his clothes.

Two guards stood by the city gates; however neither of them said anything. His tunic was a dark mahogany color, and beneath it he wore a crisp white shirt, the cleanest shirt he had worn in years. His breeches were black, as were the boots that Celeste had managed to steal when Thomas wasn't looking. Thankfully, both his stepmother and stepbrother had an overabundance of fine clothes; they wouldn't even realize they were missing anything!

Julia, the clever girl, found a fine saddle and an embroidered horse tunic, which she firmly stated would help Erik in being viewed as nobility. So far…it seemed to be working!

"My lord," both guards grumbled as Erik's horse slowly moved past. It worked! He was inside the city! Erik glanced behind him, a smile breaking across his face as he realized that no one was going to stop him; he had done it!

But this was not the hard part, he quickly reminded himself. That would come when he wanted to enter the palace gates…

He glanced up, gasping as he took in the sight of the city…and the palace that lay ahead. This was nothing like what he had seen all those years ago, as a boy in a tree; this was even more magnificent!

"Fresh baguettes! Croissants, pastries, churned butter!"

"Cheese! Milk! Both goat and cow! Fresh cream!"

"Beautiful fabric! Elegant dresses and fine tunics! Will even polish and mend your shoes!"

Throughout the city square, peddlers from nearby shops attempted to draw crowds to their windows and stands, trying to earn a few copper coins here and there. And near them were the beggars, each trying to look more pitiful than the last.

"Spare a copper, good sir? Spare a copper for an old blind man?"

"You going to eat all of that baguette? I'll be more than happy to take the measly crust…"

"Have pity, madam! Pity the poor who are starving and in need!"

Erik kept his back straight and his shoulders square, however his eyes, which remained hidden within his cloak, observed everything around him. Several peddlers and beggars eyed him from where they stood, continually chanting their every day mantras, but keeping themselves a good distance from him. Even though they could not see his masked face…something about his dark presence gave them each a sense of wariness. It was for the best, Erik believed; he did not come to shop or explore the city and all its wonders, he had a job to do. So with his back straight and his head held high…he guided the horse towards the palace gates.

* * *

The box was empty now. The last of Raoul's letters had been thrown into the fire. It was better this way; Raoul's notes to her were nothing more than friendly conversations, hardly the love letters her father was perhaps expecting the handsome prince of Roanland to be sending her. If he saw those letters he would see for himself that Raoul was merely writing them out of duty, rather than out of romantic affection. And while revealing that to her father would help _her_ cause in perhaps delaying, if not canceling the engagement, it would not be fair upon poor Raoul, making him look like the guilty party and getting him into trouble.

No, she would just have to think of some other way; perhaps, once Raoul arrived for the birthday festival, the two of them could stand before her father, together, and plead their case?

A mourning dove landed on Christine's balcony and softly cooed to its mate. Christine looked outside and felt a warm spring breeze blow upon her, delivering its sweet, flowery fragrance like an invitation, to be in nature.

She rose from her bed and wandered out onto the balcony, gazing upon the courtyard below. Dozens of courtiers strolled along the grounds, laughing and gossiping, as was the hobby for people of rank and fashion. Christine could think of nothing more boring than constantly wandering in pointless circles simply so other people of high fashion could "observe" you. Her eyes floated past the courtyard towards the labyrinth, its roses blossoming over the ivy covered stones. The labyrinth was one of her favorite places in the whole palace, and there was a small stone bench at its center that she sometimes retreated to, along with a favorite book. Few courtiers ever explored it, mainly because it would defeat the purpose of being seen by one's peers. And the breeze felt so inviting, and Christine had not been outside since she had arrived at the palace yesterday afternoon…

"Neville!" the door opened and the guard poked his head in. Christine smiled at the man and grabbed a nearby book. "I think I will take a turn about the castle grounds."

Neville actually looked rather surprised by her announcement. "As you wish, Your Highness…however, you are aware that because of your father's orders, I will be escorting you—"

"Yes, yes, don't worry, I am merely going to the labyrinth, and I promise not to run away."

Neville narrowed his eyes slightly.

"The entrance is also the exit, so I assure you…I will not be rushing off anywhere. If you wish, you may inspect the labyrinth and then leave me in its center while you stand guard at the entrance, hmm?"

The redheaded guard pondered this thought, then smiled and nodded his head. "Very well, Your Highness; I always believe walking does one good…perhaps not as good as a quick march, but those days are long past me now," he sighed, before holding her door open and allowing her to exit the chamber.

"I'm afraid Eastergard is by no means as exciting as the army," Christine sighed before looking up at him and smiling. "Nothing exciting ever happens here, and I doubt today will be any different."

* * *

"HALT!"

Erik took a deep breath and prepared himself for the moment he had been dreading.

"What business brings you to the palace, my lord?"

Erik was momentarily thrown by the question…not to mention the noble title. He had practically forgotten that he was the son of an earl.

"I have come to pay my debt to His Majesty, and buy back my servant," he muttered in a deep voice, the hood of his cloak pulled low, obscuring his face.

The two guards glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. "Is His Majesty expecting you?"

Erik silently cursed himself. What was he to say? "My visit was not planned, as I did not obtain the payment until most recently." Inside his cloak, he clutched at the tiny jeweled shoe, wishing once more that he had a bag full of coins to toss to these two guards and be about his business.

One the guards slowly approached Erik's horse, his expression grim and stern. "My lord…do you mind pulling your hood back and allowing us to see your face?"

Damn it all! He should have been expecting this. With a deep breath, his hand clutched at the hood…and slowly, pulled it back.

Both guards stumbled backward slightly, completely taken by surprise at the sight of the black mask that covered the nobleman's face. Erik cast them each his hard, cold stare, his dark eyes burning into their own, daring them to stop him from his goal. The look often worked with intimidating his fellow fighters…hopefully it would also work on intimidating palace guards.

"I…I…that is…" one of the guards was mumbling and stuttering, and he glanced at his friend for some help, but the other guard just stared and trembled at the ferocious sight.

"May I pass, gentlemen?" Erik growled, his voice so low that the horse even seemed to tremble with uneasiness.

"Y-y-yes, my lord," both guards mumbled, quickly stepping aside and allowing Erik through. He had been lucky then, but that luck would soon run out after the two men overcame their sudden stupor, and ordered more guards after him. No doubt, because of his dark looks and the menacing mask, they thought him to be some sort of villain. Well that didn't matter; he just needed to find Duncan and get out of there!

Erik urged his horse forward, not glancing back once, pulling the hood up once more over his head, concealing his masked face in its shadow. However, despite his proud stance, Erik was amazed by the sight that greeted him…

If he had thought the interior of the city was impressive…then words could not describe the awe of seeing the royal palace grounds. They were vast, a large cobblestone courtyard stretching the main expanse of the grounds, with various courtiers strolling here and there, many of them stopping to bow or curtsy to one another, before continuing on with their meaningless walk. Trees lined the foot paths that led around the castle itself, as well as the courtyard, each uniquely cut, not one leaf out of place. There were also beautiful, colorful beds of roses, with several gardeners trimming their hedges. And off to the side of the palace, Erik noted an ivy covered maze of some kind.

Truly…the place was breathtaking.

"Oh!" Erik frowned as he heard several ladies gasp. He turned his head and noticed they were staring up at him, both admiringly…and somewhat fearfully as well. There were three of them, each dressed finely, and each whispering into one another's ears. One of them, a buxom blonde, boldly stepped forward, although from the way she kept glancing back at her friends, anyone could tell she was nervous. "Good day…Lord…?"

She wanted his name. Erik set his jaw, pulling the collar of his cloak up even higher, and gripping the shoe even closer. "Good day," he murmured, deep and low, with a slight bow of his head, before turning his horse away from the chattering girls. He noticed how several courtiers were stopping and staring at him, before turning and whispering to their walking partners, pointing at him as if it were the most natural thing to do. To think, he was among his own equals, at least according to the eyes of society; he hated it.

"Bloody hell!"

Erik turned his head and narrowed his eyes as a large wagon emerged from behind a stone wall, on the far eastern side of the castle. The wagon was being pulled by several oxen, some of whom were being stubborn and not moving as quickly as the driver of the wagon liked. But it was the contents of the man's wagon that had Erik's full attention…

Men. Some of them bound in chains, others sitting and looking miserable, all of them dressed in rags. Prisoners…servants…Duncan!

In the center of this sorry group of men stood the old man that had helped raise Erik, his body looking older and more feebler than ever before. The wagon was covered with what looked like an iron cage, and Duncan was gripping its bars, as if depending on them to keep him upright. His old, withered face was covered in dirt…save for several wet streaks that ran from his eyes, and down his cheeks. Gritting his teeth, Erik squeezed the jeweled slipper in his mighty hand and dug his heels into the horse's flanks, causing the beast to rear up on its hind legs, before galloping over to the wagon, causing the ox to cry out in distress.

"WOAH!" the driver shouted, pulling the reigns. Two men who had been walking on the ground, leading the oxen, clutched the beasts' mighty heads, trying to help calm the startled animals. The driver glared from atop his seat, his eyes narrowing into dark slits. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!?" he demanded, shouting at Erik. "You trying to get us all killed!?"

Erik ignored the driver and brought his horse up, until he was but a few inches away from the rotund, smelly man. "I want my servant," he growled, pointing a finger at Duncan. "I've come to pay the debt against him."

Duncan was absolutely stunned. He pressed his face against the bars, his old eyes peering out of the cage, trying to make sense of who the dark figure was.

The driver folded his arms, and cocked his head to one side. "Is that so?" he leaned over the side of the wagon and spat on the ground, just in front of Erik's horse. "Well you're too late," he grunted. "He's been bought and paid for and is being shipped out to the Western colonies tomorrow morning!"

Erik's own dark eyes were sending daggers to the man from within the shadows of his hood. "Bought? Paid for? By who, exactly?"

The driver looked down at his friends in front of the oxen, and then looked back at Erik, before bursting out into a fitful of laughter. "Oh come on!" he laughed, slapping his chubby knee. "You're joking, right?"

Erik's voice was so deep, the very earth seemed to shake. "Am I laughing?" He leaned in so close, allowing the driver to get a good look at his masked face.

The mirth on the driver's face vanished, the instant he caught sight of the mask. "Here now…" he muttered, trying to keep his composure and not show any sign of intimidation. "I've got a job to do, and you're delaying it—"

"I'm prepared to pay you, very handsomely, if you release my servant…now."

The driver lifted his chin, despite the fact that it was trembling, slightly. "I have orders from His Majesty, the King of Eastergard to deliver these prisoners to the coast…"

"My servant is _no prisoner_," Erik growled. "And you will cease with calling him that."

"Is there a problem here?"

Both Erik and the wagon driver turned their heads to find a tall, red-haired guard, dressed in Eastergard blue and gold, standing and gazing up at the two of them with raised eyebrows.

The driver didn't waste any time. "I'll say there is! This freak is keeping me from doing my job!"

Erik snarled at the driver, who inched back on his seat. The guard frowned. "You dare call a man of noble birth by such a name?"

The driver's face turned a bright shade of red at the guard's questioning accusation. "I…I…w-w-well…I'm just doing my job!" he defended. "I was given specific orders from His Majesty, to take all these…" he glanced at Erik out of the corner of his eye, "_men_…to the coast! They're to be shipped off tomorrow morning, and…this man," he muttered, cocking his head in Erik's direction. "Keep's stopping me!"

"Hmmm…" the guard looked at Erik with curious eyes. "My lord, what business do you have with His Majesty? Have you come seeking an audience with the King?"

Erik groaned, his frustrations mounting by the second. "No, I do not wish to speak or even see the King! I just want my servant returned to me, and…" he dug into his cloak, prepared to pull out the shoe. "And I am prepared to pay—"

"Duncan?"

Both the driver and the guard turned at the sound of the soft, feminine voice that came from just behind Erik's shoulder. Erik sat frozen…as he listened to the oddly familiar voice…

"Duncan? What in God's good name…?" Christine gasped, rushing towards the wagon and gazing at the old man with large, worried eyes. "What…how…?" she looked at the other men inside the wagon, some of them leering at her with large, toothy grins. "Why are you in here? Who's done this to you?"

Erik slowly turned his head, his breath catching in his throat…as his suspicions were confirmed. He knew that voice! He had only heard it very briefly…but he knew it! And one glance at her long, curly brown hair…and he had his answer.

The peasant boy! Or rather, the girl dressed as the peasant boy! She was here!? At the palace!? And why was she speaking to Duncan in such a familiar way, as if she knew him!?

"Your Highness…" Duncan murmured, bowing his head, humbly.

_Your Highness!? _Erik's eyes widened at this revelation. It couldn't be…

The girl dressed in boy's clothing, the horse thief, the one responsible for the large bruise on the top his head and for…his other injury…was in fact, a princess!?

"Oh Duncan, how did this happen?" Christine asked, biting her lip with worry. She then turned to the wagon driver, and demanded the same thing. "Why is he in here!? Answer me at once!"

The driver was taken aback by Christine's sudden question. "I…I…t-t-that is, Your Highness…w-w-well…you see, he's been sold to the colonies, and is being shipped out—"

"Who made such an order!?" Christine demanded, glaring up at the driver. "Was it my father? Did he literally come to you, gave you specific names and pointed at specific men, and told you to send these people to the colonies? Did he!?"

Erik stared down at the girl who looked so small from where he sat. Yet her voice was anything but small…as was her temper.

The guard, who had questioned them earlier, finally spoke, looking just as confused as the rest of them. "You know this man, Your Highness?" he asked, his red brows lifted in question.

Christine simply nodded her head. "He was brought to the palace to work as a gardener; he tended the roses within the labyrinth. He's a good man, Neville, and is no prisoner!" she growled, glaring up at the wagon driver.

The poor man looked helpless. "Honestly, I'm just doing my job!"

Neville frowned and then looked back at Erik, who, from the safety of his cloak, had been staring down in bewilderment at the Princess. "This man claims that the man in question is in fact, his servant."

Christine hadn't been paying attention to the man atop the horse…until now, when she turned her head and looked up at him. She nearly stumbled backward, shocked by the dark figure, his face hidden inside his shadowed hood. He seemed to be gazing down at her, and if she narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, she could make out a pair of dark eyes, locking with hers. Christine swallowed the lump in her throat…trying desperately to regain some composure. "Duncan?" she murmured to the old man, her eyes never leaving those of the dark, hooded figure. "Do you know this man?"

Duncan looked at the hooded man, and gasped once more…as his suspicions were confirmed, when he saw those familiar eyes, shining forth from the shadows within his hood. "I do, Your Highness," he answered. "He is my master, come to claim me at once, I am happy to say." There were tears shimmering in the old man's eyes, although this time they were filled with hope, relief, and happiness.

Christine looked at Duncan and saw the genuine gladness in the old man's eyes. She looked back at the hooded figure, then once more back at Duncan. In the brief time Duncan had been a gardener at the palace, Christine had heard several stories about his family, including stories about his young master, whom he highly missed. This must be the very man…

"Well then," Christine murmured, smiling up at Duncan before turning her eyes to the driver. "Release him."

Everyone seemed to gasp at this order, including several nearby courtiers who had stopped to watch the scene unfold.

"B-b-but Your Highness…the King, he gave me orders—"

"_I_ will deal with my father," Christine interrupted, glaring up at the driver. "You, simply release him…_now_."

The driver glanced back and forth between the Princess and the dark man on horseback. He then cast a glance towards the redheaded guard, but Neville simply shrugged his shoulders; this was out of his control, the King had only given him orders to keep watch on his daughter, not to stop her if she wanted to release prisoners. Besides, anyone could tell by simply looking at this old man that he was harmless.

Christine took another step towards the driver, her hands going to her hips and her eyebrows raised in question. The driver didn't waste any more time, he leapt down from his seat, and with Neville's help, opened the cage atop the wagon, and pulled Duncan out.

Erik leapt down from his horse, and within a few strides, he had Duncan by the shoulders. The old man looked up at him, a happy and bewildered smile spreading across his withered features as he gripped Erik's strong arms. Erik's first instinct was to embrace the old man…but he remembered where he was, and the part he was playing, and immediately released the old man, before pointing to his horse. "Take the animal and prepare the carriage," he ordered, his eyes telling Duncan to go along with his charade. "I'll meet you in the city square."

Duncan nodded his head, and quickly took the reigns of Erik's horse. "Yes, my lord," he murmured, his eyes still twinkling with thankful happiness. He then turned his head and smiled warmly at Christine, before quickly bowing his head. "And thank you, Your Highness."

Christine smiled back, grateful for the distraction from the dark giant that stood near the old man…who she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of, since meeting him. "Goodbye, Duncan," she murmured, with a pleasant curtsy. "I shall miss you and our brief talks; but I am happy that…" she glanced at Erik out of the corner of her eye, before quickly turning her head when she realized he had caught her stare. "Well, I'm just happy that you're going home," she mumbled, blushing furiously.

Duncan smiled, before glancing at Erik one last time, and then leading the horse away from the perplexed crowd, just as his master had instructed. This also meant that Erik was now left alone with a small crowd of people, all of whom were staring at him with a mixture of curiosity, and foreboding.

Erik glanced at the Princess, grateful that his hood kept his face hidden, and muttered in a low voice, before bowing his head, "thank you, Your Highness." Without another word, he turned on his heel and began to stalk away, his eyes focused on the gates ahead, determined to get out of there before anyone else tried to stop him.

"Wait! Just a moment!"

Erik froze momentarily at the sound of her voice, before quickly restarting his steps. _Just keep walking, don't stop, don't turn back and look at her…_

Christine's steps paused when she realized he wasn't stopping. She frowned slightly, and nibbled her bottom lip, unsure if she should continue to pursue the dark stranger, or simply let him go. After all, one look at the man, and the wisest counselor would tell her to not even think about calling out to him! But Christine's curiosity got the better of her, as it normally did, and she picked up her skirts, not caring for who was looking, and chased after the hooded stranger.

"Wait!" she cried. "I wish to speak with you! Wait, please!" Was it her imagination? Or was he moving faster…? "Wait!" she cried again. "I order you to stop!"

_"ORDER!?"_

Christine gasped and practically stumbled backwards, when without warning, the dark stranger rounded on her, his eyes blazing. Yet what startled her more, was that when he turned, suddenly, the hood of his cloak fell backwards, revealing his masked face.

Erik was fuming. For twenty years he had been made to feel like he was worthless, lower than the dust beneath his feet. For fifteen of those years, he literally lived and worked like a slave, and when he did not obey the orders given to him by Captain Conrad or any of his men, the sting of the lash was always present. The last thing he ever wanted to hear, ever again, was an order. All he wanted to do was leave, before anyone stopped to question him further, and get Duncan home! But he could hear her coming up from behind him, her slippered feet swiftly moving along the cobblestones, and no matter how hard he ignored her, or how quickly he increased his pace, she would not stop! And when she demanded that he turn around, he could not take it any longer, he rounded on her, roaring at her, still in shock that she had been the one he had encountered in that forest, just a few days ago!

And he instantly regretted his actions. The movement caused his hood to fall back, and he saw the horror that filled her eyes—large, blue eyes—when she took in the sight of his black mask. Her face paled, her eyes widened, and she was momentarily speechless. One of her small hands clutched at her heart, as if to calm herself from the sudden shout, as well as the sudden sight. Erik inwardly cursed himself, and lifted his eyes just beyond her, noticing that the redheaded guard was frowning, and quickly approaching them. He did not need to be thrown into some palace dungeon for shouting at a princess.

Christine swallowed the sudden nervous lump that developed in her throat from his harsh roar and his sudden turn. She had nearly bumped into him when he stopped his long strides and turned on her. Good God, the man was a giant! At first she thought it was simply because he had been on horseback, but now, with him standing before her, she felt absolutely dwarfed by his intimidating presence.

"I…I…" she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, desperately trying to regain her composure. "I s-simply wanted to know y-y-your name…sir," she managed to get out, cursing herself slightly for the weak way her voice sounded.

Erik's eyes moved over her face, his jaw still grim and set, his mouth still frowning from being stopped. "My name?" he asked, wondering what on earth a princess would want his name for?

"Y-yes," Christine replied, before taking another breath and ordering the nervousness out of her voice. "I need a name, to give to His Majesty the King, when he enquires as to why I released one of the prisoners."

"Duncan is NOT a prisoner!" Erik growled, losing his temper once more, his dark eyes becoming narrowed slits of rage at the very thought that a defenseless and harmless old man was being regarded as such.

Christine bit her lip, not meaning to insult either the servant or the master, but she was forced to turn her head away from the masked stranger, when Neville called out to her. "Your Highness? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, do not worry Neville, I am fine, I was simply—" she turned her head back to face the stranger, but frowned when she realized…he was walking away! Christine's frown deepened, and her resolve was set. She picked up her skirts once more and chased after him.

Erik groaned and rolled his eyes heavenward as he heard her approaching once more. "Why are you following me?" he grumbled with exasperation. "Don't you have some…royal thing to do?"

Christine had to practically run in order to keep up with his wide strides. "You know, few people would dare speak to a princess in such a manner," she observed. She wished he would stop so she could look him in the eye once more. She felt so determined to discover his name that the intimidation she had felt earlier had completely vanished.

Erik only grunted at her words. He wondered if she was also aware that most princesses didn't dress like boys and kicked people in…well, picked fights with complete strangers! True, he had never met a princess before her, but he couldn't imagine one doing all the things she had done.

"You are being rude, you know that?" Christine groaned, still trying her hardest to keep up. "It is considered polite to speak when—"

"When royalty _order_ me to do so?" he growled, stopping and facing her, his eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling with frustrated breaths. Did she ever give up?

"No," Christine muttered, irritated by his tone. "When _any person_ addresses you, or asks you question, it is considered polite to respond."

Erik looked down at this girl before him, this petite woman who was glaring up at him, her blue eyes fixed with his. Just a few moments ago he had seen her as a fragile girl, startled and possibly frightened by his roar and intimidating looks; now, she was standing before him, her shoulders squared, her hands on her hips, her eyes fixed…and he could see the spirited woman that he had encountered in the forest, once more. The fear, the intimidation, everything he had witnessed just a few minutes ago was completely gone, replaced with stubborn determination…an emotion he knew rather well.

"I guess I'm not very polite," he muttered, before turning on his heel to walk away, once more.

Christine groaned and without warning, reached out and grabbed his arm. "Please, stop!"

A shock, unlike anything either of them had ever experienced, coursed through the two of them the second the princess' small hand grasped Erik's large arm. Erik's steps froze, and he turned his head, staring back at her, his eyes boring deeply into hers, holding her gaze for a long moment, as Christine held his arm. The fragile girl he had seen earlier returned…and a deep blush colored her cheeks as she stared up at him, all manner of speech robbed from her throat.

Erik glanced down at her hand, surprised by how small it was, and how powerful it felt on his arm. His eyes drifted once more to her face, and he allowed them to roam over her features. She was not stunning…but there certainly was something about her that he could not help but call…beautiful. Was it the blush on her cheek? The striking blue color of her eyes? The soft, summer glow on her skin? The endless mass of chocolate brown curls that framed her face and flowed across her shoulders and down her back? Or was it something deeper; a spirit that dwelt within, behind those wide blue eyes, a spirit that much like his…longed for freedom?

"I…I'm sorry," Christine finally whispered, her hand quickly releasing his arm.

Erik was taken aback by her sudden apology. Sorry? What on earth was she apologizing for? For pestering him when he was trying to escape? For stopping him just then by the unseen power of her little hands? Or for the injuries she had caused him the other day? However, it was obvious that she did not recognize him, but then she had not seen his face.

Christine saw the confusion behind his dark eyes, and swallowed the lump in her throat to explain. "I'm sorry for…for insulting you, just now," she explained. Erik's brow only creased with more confusion. "For referring to your servant as a prisoner," Christine explained, the heat in her face only growing more. "I never thought of Duncan as such; the brief time he was here, he often told me stories about his home and family…and how much he dearly missed…" her voice trailed off slightly, blushing all the more as she gazed up at the dark, masked stranger. "All of you," she concluded, her eyes falling away. Actually that wasn't entirely true; yes, Duncan had told her how much he missed all of his family…but he had also told her about his young master, who he truthfully saw as a son, and how dearly he missed him. He had failed to mention, however, that his master wore a mask…or that his eyes could penetrate into one's very soul.

Erik's first instinct upon receiving her apology, was to retort back, with something along the lines of, "well, its easy to dismiss servants for thieves when one is waited on all the time," but he didn't.

She was not his enemy, despite what had happened in the forest. And how many princesses referred to servants by their first name…and remembered them? It was unfair of him to look upon her with the same contempt that he held for the Countess and her son. Besides…if not for her, he may still be arguing with that wagon driver over Duncan's freedom.

"Thank you," Erik murmured. "And thank you for your help…Your Highness." Why did it feel so strange to call her that? That was what she was, after all. Then he found himself asking why he even cared? Erik shook his head, and pulled up the collar of his cloak, prepared to walk on.

"Wait! Please, I…" Christine blushed, knowing that she had stopped this man too many times, and no doubt had earned the annoyance he was feeling.

But Erik did not groan, he did not roll his eyes, and he did not resist; he paused his steps and turned to face her, his eyes locking with hers.

"Your name?" Christine asked, wishing she could control her blushing cheeks. Why was she blushing so? She felt strange…but couldn't quite put her finger on it…

Erik briefly looked down at his feet, a sigh escaping his lungs. Christine bit her lip, wondering if he would answer, hoping that he would, although she did not truly understand why. Her father didn't really need a name, in truth his counselors handled the transferal of prisoners from Eastergard to the colonies, and they would hardly notice that one old man was missing. But for some reason…she wanted to know, she needed to know who this mysterious, dark stranger…that covered his face with a mask…was?

After a long pause, Erik finally lifted his eyes, taking a deep breath before he spoke. "Stonehearth," he stated, with a slight bow of his head.

Christine's eyebrows lifted at the name. She was not familiar with it, but then she did not know every single courtier in the kingdom. "Stonehearth?"

"Yes," Erik answered. "The Duke of Stonehearth."

So he was a duke! Christine could not help but feel surprised by this, since she thought she knew who all the dukes in Eastergard were, but before she could ask him any more questions…a voice from just beyond her shoulder was calling her name.

"Ah! Christine, I didn't realize you were out here!" Meg greeted warmly, her hand resting atop her swollen stomach, a lovely smile spread across her beautiful face. "It is a beautiful day, and I could not contain being indoors any longer," she grinned as she approached. "Had I known you were out here, I would have escaped much sooner; would you like to take a turn around the gardens?"

Christine's mouth fell open, surprised by the appearance of her sister-in-law. She turned her head to look once more at the Duke of Stonehearth…and gasped…when she realized he was already gone.


	7. A Change of Heart

**Hello! **I've taken a break from reading _"Deathly Hallows"_ to finish this chapter which I started last week. I apologize for the lack of updates, but things are work are starting to get hectic once more, and I will be out of town for the next few days, but when I get the chance, I will update my stories as soon as I can! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my latest chapter to this fun story, and thanks so much for all the feedback! I truly appreciate it!

* * *

**Summary: **King Leonard contemplates his daughter's future, as Christine contemplates the masked man she has just met. Meanwhile, thanks to Erik, Duncan is reunited with his family...

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_A Change of Heart_**

Fredrick found his father in the throne room, pacing back and forth as he normally did when pressed with troubling thoughts. He had received his father's summons while he was out, preparing and overseeing the various activities for Eastergard's Birthday Festival. This year was very special, as Eastergard would be turning 500, and the King wanted all sorts of activities going on, from jousting tournaments, to country sports, to a special masquerade ball where dignitaries from around the world would be paying homage to the tiny mountain kingdom. It was also at the ball that King Leonard intended to announce to the world of his daughter's engagement to Prince Raoul of Roanland. Her 20th birthday was conveniently one week after the night of the masquerade ball, and King Leonard had every intention of seeing Christine married upon the eve of her birthday, which meant that all the foreign dignitaries would be present for it. No doubt that was what his father wished to talk about, Fredrick assumed, as he was granted access into the throne room. Yet when he saw the older man pacing, he immediately took notice of the worry lines that wrinkled his face.

"Father? You wished to speak with me?" Fredrick inquired, after bowing.

Leonard turned and faced his son, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Oh Fredrick…I…I am at a complete loss…"

Fredrick's brow creased with confusion. "Loss, Father? What troubles you?"

The King sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked down into his other hand, and Fredrick noticed that the old man held what looked like a letter. "Is it another message from King Claude?"

"No, no, it's the letter I asked your sister to write to Prince Raoul, inviting him to the birthday festival."

Fredrick groaned, imagining what his sister must have written. "Is it that bad? If you need me to, Father, I will speak with her—"

"No, no, it's not bad, she did what I asked, I mean, she does make the formal invitation, as well as inquires after his health and the health of his family…"

Fredrick's confusion did not lessen after everything his father had told him. "What is the problem, then?"

Leonard groaned and flopped himself down onto the large, ornate, golden throne. "The problem is this letter holds no warmth, no emotion, no…no feeling whatsoever! She is very cordial in her invitation, and very polite in her words, but…but it's cold! I can't have her send something like this to the crowned prince of Roanland!"

Fredrick sighed and looked down at the floor, before slowly approaching his father's throne. "Father, forgive me, but…I don't think it will do any good if you ask her to write another letter, I mean…I am glad that she did not disobey you, that she did do as you asked, but…to ask her to write her feelings…that's dangerous ground! I mean, you know how passionate Christine can be."

"Yes, that I do," Leonard murmured. "Just like your mother…" a sad smile spread across his face as he recalled his beloved queen who had such a hearty and wonderful passion for life, something that she made sure she instilled within her children. "And I know that you are right, I cannot ask her to write what she does not feel, and…it is quite obvious, both in her protests and in this letter, that she feels nothing for Prince Raoul."

Fredrick looked at his father with anxious, and curious eyes. "What are you saying, exactly?" he asked, practically holding his breath.

"I'm saying…" Leonard sighed, before looking up into his son's own pair of deep, blue eyes. "That…I'm having second thoughts about your sister's future…"

* * *

Duncan clung to Erik as the horse carried them from the palace and the city surrounding it, far into the country, away from the curious looks and whispers of the villagers, farmers, and castle guards. Erik only urged the beast to move faster, until the top of Ravenskeep Château could be seen over the trees. He pulled back on the reigns, and the horse came to a quick stop. Without a word, Erik dismounted, and helped the old man down from the animal's back. "It's best we walk from here," Erik explained. "I don't want to draw any attention if the Countess is watching—" 

"Oh my dear boy!"

Erik's explanations were stopped when Duncan, finally free to do so without anyone looking, threw his arms around the dark giant and hugged him fiercely. "Oh my dear, dear boy, it does me good to see you!" he gasped, trying to control the emotions that threatened to burst forward.

Erik couldn't help but smile, and wrapped his own strong arms around the old man's withered body, hugging him back, grateful to be amongst family and friends.

"Oh Erik," Duncan gripped the younger man's shoulders, and looked at the man who in many ways was like the son he never had. "Oh God bless you, my dear boy, I never thought I would ever see you again!" he grinned, despite the tears that shimmered in his old eyes. He then looked Erik over, his eyes widening slightly as he took in everything he saw. "You've grown!"

Erik couldn't help but laugh at Duncan's observation. "It's been fifteen years since last I saw you."

"True," Duncan murmured. "But look at you! You're massive! Like a formidable giant!"

"Enough about me," Erik laughed. "I know two people who are eagerly awaiting your return."

Duncan's face lit up as he imagined his wife and daughter waiting for him back at Ravenskeep. "Yes, yes, let's hurry home, it's been far too long since last I saw their wonderful faces."

Erik smiled, and quietly led the horse behind them, as they walked onward to the château. However, despite the happy reunion and soon-to-be happy homecoming that Duncan would receive, Erik found himself troubled, and not by thoughts of how he was going to deal with the Countess.

That girl. That…that princess. For some reason, it bothered him that he had needed her help with getting Duncan released. He didn't know why, after all, what mattered was that Duncan was released, but…but…who did she think she was!? The way she just threw orders about, especially when she ordered him to stop walking, and then kept demanding over and over as to know his name…good God, what was he supposed to do!? She would have kept pestering him if he didn't give her answer, so he finally came up with one: the Duke of Stonehearth.

Stonehearth made sense, if you knew Erik; not long after his father's death, the Countess had ordered Erik to sleep with the rest of the servants, taking over his chamber for her precious and piggy son, Thomas. It wasn't long before Erik was reduced to being one of the servants, and some nights, after being so exhausted from working, he wouldn't even make it back to his bed, but end up falling asleep before the stone hearth in the kitchens, amongst the soot, cinders, and ashes.

But why had he told her he was a _Duke!?_ Only nobility had the right to reclaim servants, and while he truly was nobility, the son of an earl, and the present Earl of Ravenskeep, the true earl, he could not give that title since Thomas was already flaunting it. Sadly, Victor Delahoussaye had never presented his son to the King's court, no doubt wanting to shield Erik from the harsh and cruel stares that other people would give him because of his face. However, his father's good intentions meant that no one, save for those who lived at Ravenskeep, knew that Victor had a son. And the Countess, not being foolish, took advantage of this lack of information…and used it to proclaim Thomas as the one and only Earl.

Somehow he would find a way to make them both pay, and find a way to regain his father's title and restore Ravenskeep to the glory it once held…but even with all that to consider…why had he told her he was a Duke!? Why had he given her a name at all!? He should have just kept walking; he should have just ignored her, after all, a girl who dresses in boys' clothes, and who…

He still winced as he recalled their all too brief "moment" in the forest.

But such a girl was nothing but trouble! And she was a princess! That meant even MORE trouble! _Calm down, Erik, it's not as if you're going to run into her again. No doubt she's already forgotten who you are!_ Yet these thoughts brought him little comfort…and he felt something else as well, but he wasn't quite sure what that emotion was…

"Erik?"

The younger man shook his head and turned his eyes to Duncan, who was looking up at him with a curious expression.

"You didn't answer my question. I asked how it was that you managed to escape Captain Conrad?"

Even though the black mask covered his entire face, Duncan had known him since he was a child, and could read Erik's eyes, even when the mask hid his emotion. The old man's face paled, and he stopped his movement as he stared up at Erik with dawning horror. "Erik…what did you do…?"

Erik turned his face away, marching onward. "What I had to do," he muttered, more to himself than to the old man. But despite his age and withered limbs, Duncan caught up with Erik and grasped his forearm, causing the younger man to stop.

"When? How long ago?"

Erik saw the fear in the old man's eyes, and knew it mirrored the same fear he felt in his own heart, although he had been trying desperately to ignore it. Conrad's death meant that Conrad's men would try to find him; no doubt they assumed he was their leader's killer. The whole lot of them were sniveling cowards, who relied on their weapons to intimidate others. He could easily take them if they attacked, years of fighting and winning in that pit had prepared him well…yet none of that would matter, if they somehow managed to convince the King's soldiers that he was a murderer. Never mind that Conrad was a despicable human being who sold the flesh of innocent men, women, and children, breaking law after law; one look at his own fierce exterior and the soldiers would automatically assume that he was this horrid monster that Conrad and his men painted him as. He would be dragged off to the palace dungeons, and no doubt shipped off to the Western colonies just like the rest of Eastergard's criminals.

No, he had just tasted freedom, he had just returned to his home; he would not allow them to take those precious gifts from him!

"Erik? Answer my question, please," Duncan asked once more, his face still pale and his eyes still wide with worry.

Erik reluctantly looked at the old man, his second father, and opened his mouth to speak. But before any sound could escape…a great gasp was heard ahead of them…and it was then that they realized they were standing in Ravenskeep's own orchard…and Julia was looking right at them.

"PAPA!" she cried, dropping the basket of apples she was holding and picking up her skirts, flying to her father's side as fast as her legs would allow.

All questions were momentarily forgotten, as Duncan cried Julia's name, and rushed towards her, meeting her halfway, his old arms feeling strong, as they wrapped around his daughter's shoulders.

"Oh Papa!" Julia grinned, pausing to kiss his cheeks, laughing when he would not cease to rain kisses across her forehead, eyes, and cheeks. "Oh Papa, I was so scared! I thought we would never see you again!"

"Never say never, my dear," he smiled, hugging her tightly, turning his head slightly to Erik and mouthing the words "thank you". Erik simply bowed his head, his chest swelling with pride and his heart overflowing with happiness. There were many things in life that he hadn't done right…thankfully, this wasn't one of them.

"D-D-D-Duncan?"

Julia released her father and turned, grinning, as she looked upon her mother, who stood frozen in place, as she gazed at the old, withered face of her husband. She had heard Julia's happy cry when she was in the kitchens, baking bread. She dropped what she was doing and stumbled out into the orchard, gasping as she took in the sight of the frail old man who was clinging to Julia's body, while they stood next to the dark giant that smiled down at them.

He had done it. Just as he had promised to do, Erik had done it!

"Celeste…" Duncan murmured, smiling as he held his wife's gaze. He had begun to move towards her, but she was upon him before he had finished taking his third step. Her arms were thrown about his neck, and much to Erik and Julia's surprise, she knocked the old man to the ground, tumbling with him. Yet neither complained; they were too busy kissing and crying to have noticed.

The couple eventually got back to their feet, and the happy family hugged each other tightly, even Erik, who's massive arms nearly encircled all three of them. Gone were the fears and worries that had plagued his mind and heart just moments before; he was home, with his family. He had finally returned to the place where he belonged…

A few hours later, the four of them were huddled in the kitchen, sitting before the fire while Celeste served each of them a large bowl of hearty beef stew. Duncan hadn't even managed to eat five spoonfuls, before his wife was refilling his bowl to the point of overflowing.

"You're as thin as a rake!" Celeste tutted, while adding more stew to his bowl. "You need your strength! Now eat up!"

"They didn't starve me," Duncan tried to reason. "It wasn't as if I was chained in the palace dungeon."

Celeste simply grumbled under her breath, while she checked on the bread. The Countess and her son were out for the day; spending what little money they had on senseless frivolities, which would only result in placing them in even further debt. A part of Erik was greatly tempted to explore the château, yet despite this desire, he held himself back. Based on everything Celeste and Julia had told him, all of his father's treasures had been sold, and it would only anger him further to see how horribly the villains had mistreated his beloved home.

Julia was sitting on a small stool near her father's feet. She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What was the palace like?" she asked, wanting to know if the reality was anything like her dreams.

Duncan smiled and brushed a raven strand of hair from his daughter's forehead. "I did not see all of it…but what I did see, was very beautiful. The floors are polished marble, and the wallpaper has gold etched into it! And there are beautiful paintings and sculptures—"

"Wasteful funds to flatter one's vanity," Erik grumbled, before chewing on a piece of beef from his spoon.

Duncan frowned and Julia's brow furrowed. "Now Erik, King Leonard is a good man, he does not overly flaunt his wealth, and takes very good care of his people—"

"Then he can take even better care of them by not etching his wallpaper with gold," he muttered with disgust.

Julia turned away from her father and faced her long time friend. "Tell me about the city, Erik? I've never seen it, although I long to—"

"Don't bother," Erik interrupted, his tone only growing more and more critical. "Everywhere you look, there are peddlers and beggars, some trying to honestly get by, while most no doubt are trying swindle innocent people of their money. And as for the palace…" a growl escaped his lips, as he recalled the way the guards only allowed courtiers beyond the palace gates, while hard working, honest men in need, were left outside, begging to have an audience with the King, but being refused simply because the sight of them would "offend" the courtiers who strolled about the palace grounds inside.

"Erik?" Julia whispered, looking up into his masked face with curious eyes. "What about the palace? Did you see it too?"

"Only from the outside," he muttered, waking from his thoughts. "But they keep the wealthy and privileged separated from those who actually have a need to see the King. No doubt they are just as ignorant of the world outside, thinking everything is a clean street, covered in cobblestones, lined with perfectly trimmed trees—"

"Now just a moment, Erik," Duncan interrupted. "I do not doubt that some of those courtiers are ignorant to the poverty that exists in the world, that exists everywhere, not just in Eastergard, but you should not condemn all men and women of wealth and privilege to being uncaring or cruel. After all, in the brief time when I was there and got to know Princess Christine—"

"OH!" Julia turned her attention back to her father, her face glowing with excitement as his words. "You saw the princess? You met her? Oh Papa, please, tell me what she was like? Was she beautiful? Were her gowns as lovely as the Countess'?"

Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but Erik had already made a grunt of disapproval. The old man frowned, but did not allow Erik's "subtle" comment to stop him from answering his daughter's questions. "Princess Christine is very pretty, although not as beautiful as you," he grinned, to which Julia happily blushed. "She had fancy dresses, yes, but she never looked extravagant, or…or gaudy…"

"Not like some people," Celeste grumbled, her eyes darting upwards towards the house.

"Her hair is curly and brown, a dark mahogany color..."

_More like chocolate, actually,_ Erik thought to himself as he listened.

"She is rather petite, but only in height, not in character," Duncan continued, smiling. "And her eyes…oh what color were they…?"

"Blue."

Everyone glanced at Erik, surprised that he had spoken. Erik was grateful for the mask that covered his cheeks, he could feel them inflame beneath its hard surface.

"Yes…they are blue, now that I remember…" Duncan murmured, a small smile lifting at the corners of his mouth as he gazed at the young man he had always saw as a son. He turned his attentions back to Julia, and continued his tale. "The palace had me work in the gardens, and I first met the Princess when I was tending to the roses and ivy inside the stone labyrinth, just next to the castle. She was sitting in the middle of it, upon a stone bench, reading—"

"Oh!" Julia grinned at this piece of news. Few servants knew how to read, but Erik's father, the Earl, had insisted that she learn when she was little, and taught her, himself. When she had learned that the Countess would be selling many of the Earl's favorite books, she took several before the greedy women could get her hands upon them, and kept them hidden beneath her bed. She liked the fact that this princess seemed to enjoy reading, just like her. "And she spoke to you?"

Duncan smiled and nodded his head. "Yes. She told me that the labyrinth was her most favorite place in the entire palace, and she would often go there to read, or to simply get away from the world and become lost in her own thoughts and dreams."

Julia smiled, deciding that she if she ever had the chance, she would very much like to meet Princess Christine one day.

"She asked me about my home, and I told her about Ravenskeep, and about my beautiful wife," he grinned at Celeste who blushed deeply at the thought of being mentioned to a member of the Eastergard royal family. "And about my beautiful daughter," he grinned, to which Julia gasped, before also blushing, and bursting into a heap of giggles. Duncan smiled and looked up at Erik, who had turned away slightly, his arms folded across his massive chest, trying to look as if he didn't care about what they were talking about…but the old man knew better. "I even told her about Erik, although I never mentioned his name…"

Julia looked up at Erik, her eyes filling with hopeful light. "Oh Erik! Perhaps the Princess can help you with having your title restored!"

Erik looked at his old friend with confusion. "Restore my title? How?" What on earth was she talking about?

Julia rolled her eyes. It was so obvious! "Princess Christine is clearly Papa's friend, I'm sure that if you write a letter, explaining your case, and that you mention Papa, she will surely speak with the King, and—"

"Oh, don't be silly, Julia!" Erik groaned, rising from his chair and stomping over to a window, gripping the sill and glaring out at the orchard. Everyone was surprised by Erik's sudden harshness, including Erik. "You honestly think a princess will help a servant?" He turned to face them all, his eyes burning with rage. "If there's nothing in it for her, why would she even bother helping!?"

Duncan slowly rose from his chair, and without a word, approached Erik, until he was standing just beside the younger man. "Erik…she is not like the Countess…"

Erik felt his breath catch in his throat at Duncan's wise revelation. His anger and hatred for the Countess was blinding him from seeing anything clearly. "You're right," he murmured, feeling somewhat ashamed for how he had just spoken, yet more for frightening or causing alarm in his friends, rather than for falsely accusing the Princess of snobbery. "She may not be Dominique…but I doubt she will help us even if we asked."

Duncan's brow furrowed at Erik's lack of faith in the Princess. Granted, Erik had not known the Princess for as long as he had, but had the younger man so easily forgotten how she had helped him win his freedom that morning? Indeed, Erik had not forgotten the way she had helped, nor had he forgotten the way she had remembered Duncan's name, when she was no doubt surrounded by scores of servants…or the way she genuinely seemed concerned for the old man. Perhaps he was judging her too harshly? Perhaps he was simply holding a grudge against her because of their all too brief (thank God) encounter in the forest?

It was just then that Erik remembered he still held the jeweled slipper, now hidden in the saddlebag atop his horse. Did the shoe belong to her? Was it her shoe he possessed?

"But Erik, surely it will not hurt to try—"

"Having Erik's title restored is very important, Julia, you are not wrong," Duncan said, interrupting his daughter. "But we have other things to consider, other concerns to prepare for."

Erik looked into Duncan's eyes and nodded his head. The old man was thinking exactly what he was thinking.

Celeste, however, did not understand what her husband was talking about. "What's going on? What do you know?"

Erik decided to not keep them waiting, and came right out with it. "Conrad is dead. By my own hand."

A great gasp escaped Celeste's throat, and Julia's hands flew to cover her mouth. "God almighty," Celeste murmured, before quickly crossing herself. "Dear heaven…so that is how you escaped…"

Erik nodded his head, feeling neither shame nor pride for his actions.

"Conrad's men…" Julia whispered, fear gripping her heart as she gazed up at her friend. "Do they know? Are they after you?"

Duncan chose to answer that question. "No doubt they will be…if they are not, already," he sighed, looking into Erik's eyes, his own filled with remorse for what must be done. "It is not safe for Erik to remain here, not for a while, anyway."

Celeste stared at her husband as if he had just uttered words in another language. "Not stay here…what on earth are you talking about, Duncan!? Where else is there for Erik to go?"

"Duncan is right," Erik sighed, nodding his head at the old man. "It's too risky for me to stay here, even if Conrad's men weren't on the search. All morning long, I had to hold my breath and stay hidden in that hay loft while that other man was in the stables."

"But he will be leaving now that Duncan has returned, and we will keep your presence here a secret—"

"It's too dangerous," Erik interrupted, his eyes locking with Celeste's. "If not for me, then for you. If any of you get into trouble because of me, I'll never forgive myself."

"But Erik, we can take care of ourselves—"

"That may be, Julia, but it won't be long before the Countess herself realizes that food is missing, or that there is a new horse in the stables. No, it is best for us all if I leave, at least until I have discovered a way to regain my title."

"But where you will you go!?" Celeste asked, her voice filled with annoyance, mainly because she knew, deep in her bones, that both Erik and Duncan were right.

Erik paused and turned his gaze back towards the windows. He had been contemplating that very question all day, and as he gazed out past the trees of the orchard, towards the forest that lay beyond…an idea occurred to him.

"Duncan, does the old church still exist?"

The old man's brow furrowed at Erik's question. "I believe so, although it is no more than ruins now…"

"Yes, I remember the building was already falling apart when Father took me there, when I was a boy," he whispered, as the old memories danced before his eyes as if he were reliving them once more. "It's close, but not close enough for anyone here to think of going there to look for someone. And it's hidden, surrounded by thick trees, and overgrown with vines. Father and I camped there many nights during the summer months, do you remember Duncan?"

The old man smiled, understanding Erik's intentions. "That I do. Quiet and hidden away; no one would ever find you there, or even think to look for you."

"Now wait just one moment!" Celeste grumbled, stomping her foot most indignantly. "Are you suggesting, both of you, that Erik is going to stay in that ruined church for the next few nights!?"

"Weeks, more likely," Erik sighed.

Celeste stared at both men as if they had lost their heads. "You can't be serious!? What will you eat? You'll freeze! You'll—"

"So we'll make sure he has plenty of blankets, and the forest is filled with fox and rabbit, not to mention fish in the stream that runs near the church. Erik will be perfectly fine, dearest," Duncan attempted to reason.

Erik couldn't help but smile at Celeste's worries. She truly fussed over him as if he were her own son. "For fifteen years I survived Conrad's tyranny on much less; I believe I will survive a few weeks amongst some ruins."

Celeste groaned and threw her arms up in defeat. "Very well," she grumbled. "But you'll need fresh clothes! I won't be having your stench after several days of wearing the same tunic, attract any hungry bear or wolf." Erik said nothing, although he couldn't help but feel amused by the old woman's grumbling. "Just as well," Celeste muttered, before thrusting a bound bundle into Erik's arms. "Now you really do have a reason to wear these."

Erik looked down at the bundle with curious eyes, and undid the tie that held it together. Inside were several tunics, and several pairs of breeches, all of which had at one point belonged to…or more than likely, _still belonged_, to his stepbrother. "I only hope the stitches are a little looser," he murmured to himself as he gazed down at the clothes.

"Erik, I've been meaning to ask…where did you get the mask?"

Erik looked back into Julia's eyes, and his hand instinctively moved to touch the hard, black metal shield that covered his face. "It was a gift," he simply murmured, recalling the Countess' late night visit. She had threatened him, he remembered, threatened that he would never see Ravenskeep again. "I can't believe I almost forgot…"

"What?" Julia's brow furrowed at her friend's words. "What did you almost forget? What are you talking about Erik?"

Erik was already digging into the cloak that he still wore, reaching into one of the inside pockets, and finding the letter that he had brought all the way back to Ravenskeep, the letter that he had forced Conrad to write just before he died. "Celeste," he whispered, his body tense as he carefully handed the sealed note to the old woman. "Give this to the Countess the second she gets back."

"What is it?" Celeste asked, looking down at the letter with curious eyes.

"Everything that the Countess wishes to know, everything that she has hoped for."

"But who shall I say it's from?"

Erik was about to answer that question for her, but the sound of horses could be heard just outside. Julia rushed to the window that offered anyone in the kitchen a glimpse of the front door. Just as they suspected, they saw the Countess' carriage pull up, and the old, feeble man, slowly climb down from his driving perch. "They're back," Julia whispered, glancing over her shoulder at Erik.

Erik crossed the kitchen in a few strides and also gazed out the window, his jaw clenching as he heard the voice of the woman he despised most in this world. The old carriage driver was about to open the door, but a frustrated grunt escaped the coach, and a long, booted foot kicked the door open, before a bulky, strong looking man, descended, grumbling curses to the old man, and marching up the steps towards the house.

Had it not been for the young man's strawberry-blonde hair, Erik would not have recognized him as Thomas, his stepbrother. Celeste and Julia had not been wrong; Thomas had grown and was no longer the piggy little toad that he had once been, at least not in looks. He was tall and broad shouldered and looked quite strong, although he was nowhere near as large as Erik. He was still, obviously, a spoiled brat, as he gave a groan and whined to his mother's calls, before returning back to the carriage to help her down, pouting all the way.

Erik's breath caught in his throat, and his dark eyes glazed over with hate…as he gazed at the Countess in the afternoon sunlight. It had been dark, the last time he had seen her, and the only light that illuminated her face was that of the torch that Captain Conrad had been holding. Yet now, he could see her so much more clearly…and in truth, she hadn't changed one bit.

"Erik…" Duncan whispered, tugging on the younger man's sleeve. "Come away, Erik, come away…"

He didn't want to come away, he wanted to storm up the stairs and face both of them right then and there!

But that would defeat his purpose.

The letter he had given Celeste was to buy him some time until he could come up with a proper plan on ridding Ravenskeep of their horrible presence, and regaining the manor, the land, and the title, back to its proper place.

With much reluctance, he tore himself away from the window, and followed Duncan back into the orchard. Celeste wasted no time, knowing where they both would soon be traveling, and immediately packed some food into a sack, while Julia grabbed several blankets from a trunk in the tiny bed chamber that she shared with her parents. "Be careful," she whispered to Erik, handing him the blankets, and the food her mother had gathered.

"I will," he promised, climbing up atop his horse that Duncan had fetched for him, keeping a close lookout for the old carriage driver.

"Do not travel here, it's too risky," Duncan whispered. "I will come by tomorrow to deliver you any news, and we will figure out a way to communicate from there, but stay away, Erik, stay away."

Erik nodded his head, although he hated making the promise. He knew that it was for the best that he not stay there, but he hated being away from his beloved home, especially now that he had just returned.

"God be with you!" Celeste whispered, crossing herself once more and smiling up at him through tear-filled eyes. The small family stood huddled together and waved at him, as he held tight to his supplies, and dug his heels into the horse, before disappearing through the brush in search of his secret hideaway.

* * *

"Christine?" 

Christine lifted her head at the sound of her name being called on Meg's lips. Her friend emerged then, from just around an ivy-covered corner of the labyrinth, Neville close behind, holding a lamp in his hand to light the princess' way. "Oh!" Meg sighed, smiling with relief at finding Christine there. "Oh thank goodness. When I didn't see you at dinner, I began to worry that perhaps you weren't well, and when I went to your room and discovered that you were gone—"

"Don't worry, Meg," Christine whispered, forcing a smile on her lips as she looked up from her bench at her sister-in-law. "I promised to never leave again, and I will keep that promise."

Meg smiled at Christine's words, but could tell that something was troubling the brown-haired princess. The moon was just a sliver, yet it was shining down upon the labyrinth, illuminating the ivy covered walls, and the roses that grew upon them. Christine sat upon the lone stone bench, her knees curled up beneath her gown, her arms wrapped around them and hugging them against her chest, her chin resting on top of them. Meg glanced at Neville, who had been standing outside the labyrinth, straight and tall as only the best of guards would, yet even he did not seem to know the answer to Christine's melancholy.

"What is the matter, my dear?" Meg asked, turning her attentions back to her friend and quietly approaching the bench where Christine sat. "Are you unwell?"

Christine silently shook her head, and quickly removed her feet from the bench, allowing Meg a place to sit. "No, nothing like that, I was just…thinking, that is all."

Meg's brow furrowed at these words. "They must be heavy thoughts indeed, to cause such sadness in your eyes."

Christine's eyes widened at Meg's words and she stared at the other woman in surprise. "Sadness? I'm not sad, I was just…troubled, that's all."

"Troubled?" Meg murmured. She had a good idea as to what was troubling her sister-in-law. Without a word, she reached out and rested her hand atop Christine's. "Prince Raoul?"

"Raoul?" Christine asked, her eyes meeting Meg's in a somewhat confused expression. It was then that Meg realized, much to her surprise…that Christine had not been thinking about the handsome prince from Roanland until just now, after his name had been spoken.

Christine had also made the same realization. Amazing; for the first time in what felt like…years, really, Christine had not thought about Raoul, or the impending doom that awaited the two of them. No, another gentleman had otherwise occupied her thoughts…

"Christine?" Meg whispered, squeezing Christine's hand in hers. "What is it that troubles you?"

Christine sighed and then looked into Meg's eyes, hoping that her sister-in-law, who was well acquainted with most, if not all of Eastergard's courtiers, knew the answer to this question. "Do you know the Duke of Stonehearth?"

"The Duke of Stonehearth?" Meg repeated, her brow furrowing as she thought about the name. "I am not familiar with the name, I am afraid."

A heavy sigh escaped Christine's lips as her heart sank at Meg's words. "Oh…I…well, I had thought because he was a duke, that perhaps…" her words trailed off, and her face flushed brightly. Ever since her encounter with the mysterious masked duke that morning, Christine had not been able to stop thinking about him! He was unlike anyone she had ever met! Unlike Fredrick and Meg, Christine had avoided meeting, let alone getting to know, many of the courtiers in the kingdom. She thought them all dull, boring, and snobby, and she especially hated it when they bent themselves backwards in order to appear pleasing in the royal family's eyes. They bowed, they scraped, they purred, and they filled the air with endless compliments, which held as much genuine warmth as a cold, December morning.

But this Duke of Stonehearth…he didn't bow, or scrape, or fill her ears with false flattery. He growled, he snarled, and when he looked into her eyes, he made no secret of hiding his emotions. When she had "ordered" him to stop, he had whirled around and roared in her face, causing her to stumble backwards in a moment of shock and fear. When she had accused him of being rude, he had argued with her, most passionately. And when she had made the slip of calling his servant a "prisoner", she gasped at the loyalty he held for the old man, and the thirst to see justice done. And he made it quite clear, that he didn't care that she was a princess…he was determined to have her treat him, and Duncan, as equals.

Which also meant that he saw _her_ as an equal.

"Christine?"

Christine shook her head, blushing when she realized that she had been holding her breath while thinking. "S-s-sorry," she stammered, blushing only more. She looked up at Neville then, and felt hope lift in her heart once more.

"Neville! How many years did you serve in the Eastergard army?"

Neville was momentarily shaken by the princess' question, especially since he had been standing there, adopting his traditional guard stance, blocking his ears to all matter of conversation between the two women, until he was called upon.

"I, um…" he paused to think. "At least fifteen years, Your Highness."

"Fifteen years…" the Duke of Stonehearth didn't look as if he could be much older than thirty-five, therefore there was a good chance that Neville may have known him! "How many nobles served, Neville? Do you know?"

"Many, Your Highness," Neville answered. "After all, His Highness Prince Fredrick served but five years ago, and many men of both noble and common birth, joined the army in support of him."

Meg smiled, as did Christine. Fredrick would make an excellent king one day. "Did you know the Duke of Stonehearth?" Christine asked, gripping the edges of the stone bench, nibbling her lip and looking hopeful.

Neville frowned. "Stonehearth, Your Highness?"

"Yes, he's a duke," Christine explained, still holding tight to her hopes on learning more about the mysterious masked giant. Yet those hopes began to fade, slowly…when Neville's frown only deepened after several moments of silent thought.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," he sighed, lifting his eyes to hers and looking genuinely upset that he could not recall the name she had asked. "I have never come across anyone of that name…but then again, perhaps he is a first born? After all, many nobles send their second sons to the army, perhaps he was the only heir, therefore he never served?"

Christine's heart plummeted once more, and Meg noticed the way her sister-in-law's shoulders slumped in despair. "What makes you think he was in the army, dearest?"

"I…" Christine lifted her head, gazing into Meg's face, but truly thinking about the masked face of the Duke of Stonehearth. She had assumed he had been in the army because of the black mask that he wore. Surely that was to cover up some battle injury? Why else would a man wear such a thing? But as Neville mentioned, perhaps the Duke was the only son, the man to inherit his father's fortune and title…and perhaps he wore the mask for _other_ reasons? Her mind began to wander as she imagined what other reasons there could be…and some of them caused shivers to run down her spine.

"Never mind," Christine whispered, looking away so she could hide her blush. "It doesn't matter, I was just—"

"CHRISTINE!?"

Christine practically leapt to her feet at the barking voice of her father, who emerged just around the corner in that instant. Fredrick was close behind, looking rather breathless, most likely from trying to keep up with the King's quick strides. Christine squared her shoulders as she met the hard, stone gaze of her father's blue eyes, and only matched that stare with one of her own. She had come out here to be alone with her thoughts, yet it seemed that the King was determined to have an audience with his daughter, no doubt about the letter she had written to Prince Raoul, although she could not help but feel somewhat surprised that he had waited until now to discuss it with her.

Leonard eventually turned his head away from his daughter's stare, and looked directly at Neville. "Thank you, Neville. Please return to your post."

"Sire?"

"Your _original_ post, Neville," the King specified.

Christine's mouth fell open at her father's words. Had he just told Neville that he no longer needed to keep watch over Christine's every step?

The guard bowed, before limply marching out of the labyrinth, back to his official guard post in the palace. As soon as Neville was out of sight, Leonard turned back to face his daughter and squared his own shoulders. "I'm glad that you are here, Marguerite," he nodded at Meg. "I want both you and Fredrick to hear what I have to say to Princess Christine."

_Lord have mercy_, Christine groaned to herself. What now? Her letter to Prince Raoul, while lacking any emotional feeling, was polite and cordial and to the point. What more did her father want!?

"As you know, Christine," Leonard began, folding his arms behind his back. "There will be a masquerade ball on the night of the full moon. The ball will be the final event of the Birthday Celebration, and it is at that ball that I wish to make the announcement of your engagement."

"Yes, Father, I know," Christine sighed, rather wearily. She ignored Fredrick's frown, and kept her eyes focused on those of her father's. "The ball is exactly one week before my birthday, and the wedding is to take place the day before," she recited, rather glumly.

Leonard lifted a gray brow at his daughter's words, before straightening his back and lifting his chin. "That is correct, and I still wish keep that schedule, however, at the stroke of midnight on the night of the ball, instead of announcing your engagement to your future husband, you, my dear, will make the announcement."

"Me!?" Christine gasped, looking at her father as if he had grown a second head. Was he serious? He wanted _her_ to hold Raoul's hand, and gaze lovingly into his eyes, and announce that the boy who she had always viewed as a second brother was to be her future husband? The thought alone made her stomach twist…

"That's right," Leonard continued, glancing at Fredrick, before looking back at Christine's surprised face. "You will make the announcement about your engagement…to the man of your choosing."

"Father, honestly, why must I make the announcement, why can't you—WHAT!?"

Meg let out a gasp, and covered her mouth with her hand. She looked up at Fredrick, who was biting his lip to keep from smiling at his sister's look of absolute shock. He knew about this!?

Christine stumbled towards King Leonard, her face ghostly pale in the moonlight, as she reached out and gripped his shoulder. "You're…you're actually saying…?"

"I'm saying that the planned engagement to Prince Raoul…is canceled," Leonard sighed, although anyone could tell that it pained him slightly to say the words.

"But…but…" Christine was torn between a variety of emotions. Shock, jubilation, worry, bewilderment, the list went on and on. "Father…what about…what about King Claude—"

"I will deal with Claude, you…" he shook his head, looking down at the ground. This was what his daughter wanted, he knew that, but he wondered if she had any idea how difficult the task was that lay before her? "You have much bigger problems, my dear. You have to find a husband between now and the ball!"

She knew what he meant. If she simply wanted another man to be her husband, other than Raoul, that could be solved by simply sending a letter out to the other kingdoms. No, Christine knew, as did her father and brother, that she wanted what they had been lucky to find…love.

And she had very little time to find it.

"Father…" she didn't know what to say. To thank him seemed to be in ill taste, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him to stop what he was about to do, that she would go on with the marriage to Raoul. "Father…I…I—"

"Nothing more needs to be said, let that be the final word on the matter," Leonard sighed, before turning on his heel, his hands still clasped behind his back, as he was turning to leave. "Oh! I almost forgot…" he turned back and held one of his hands out towards his daughter. Christine looked at his hand, her brow furrowed, as she realized he held what looked like a letter. Was it the one she had written to Raoul? Was he giving it back to her?

"An invitation from Dominique Delahoussaye, Countess of Ravenskeep," he explained. "She's invited you to join her for tea, on Thursday."

"Me?" Christine took the invitation, noting that her Father had already opened it, but chose not to reprimand him for it, especially after what he had just done. "That's in two days," she murmured, noting that it was Tuesday night.

Fredrick stood over his sister's shoulder and examined the name on the invitation she held. "Ravenskeep…" he whispered. The name sounded very familiar to him.

"I know who she is," Meg supplied, noticing her husband's confusion. "Her husband, the late earl, was Victor Delahoussaye, although he died twenty years ago. He had no children, from what I understand, but the Countess had a son, whom the late earl adopted as his own. After he died, the boy inherited the title. His name is Thomas, Thomas Montero-Delahoussaye."

"That's it!" Fredrick gasped, now remembering the name. "Thomas Montero, the Earl of Ravenskeep…" he frowned slightly as he thought about the man. He was not bad looking, and Ravenskeep was one of the most admired plots of land in the entire province, but what else could be said about the young earl that was positive? Fredrick had little contact with the man, other than a few encounters here and there, and much of what he had been told came from stories he had heard from other courtiers. Stories that did not do well, for the Earl's character.

Christine frowned, still not understanding why the Countess of Ravenskeep was asking her to join her for tea.

"She's sent other invitations before," the King sighed, looking down at the one Christine held. "As have other courtiers, all asking for Princess Christine to grace them with her presence in some way, shape, or form."

"They have?" Christine asked, surprised that she had never known about such invitations. Why was he giving her them now? "Why haven't you told me about them before?"

"Because before, my dear, you were going to marry Prince Raoul," the King explained, before tapping the invitation she now held. "As I understand, the Earl of Ravenskeep is a single gentleman…"

Christine's face flushed brightly as she finally took her father's meaning.

_"You have much bigger problems, my dear. You have to find a husband between now and the ball!"_

Her father's words echoed in her head, and Christine suddenly realized that by gaining her freedom in one way, she had shackled herself up in another.

"What I am supposed to do!?" Christine gasped, looking at her father, her face going pale as she stared back and forth between the Countess' invitation and the King's face.

Leonard simply sighed, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, as if he were going to smile, but instead, he turned on his heel and began to walk away. "You're a princess of Eastergard, my dear, and with that comes specific obligations. You'll know what to do."

Christine rolled her eyes at her father's parting words. "I thought one's royal obligations were to see that the hungry are fed and the homeless given shelter! Not…to attend tea parties with marriage-minded mothers!"

A great chuckle escaped her father's lungs as he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. "Welcome to the world of politics, Princess!"


	8. The Hero and the Damsel

Sorry for the lack of updates, as mentioned before, things are getting somewhat hectic now, but I will keep them coming when I can! I know that I need to update other stories as well, but this chapter was in my mind and I had to get it down, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks again for all the reviews and feedback! It's much appreciated!

* * *

**Summary: **Unexpected events cause both Erik and Christine to crash into each other...literally. 

**The Mask and the Slipper**

**_The Hero and the Damsel_**

"MURDERER!"

"MONSTER!"

"GET HIM! STRING HIM UP! HE'S RIGHT OVER _THERE!"_

Erik awoke with a jolt, gasping as the voices of Conrad's men continued to echo throughout his head. His bare chest was covered with sweat, and the blanket that he wore clung to his wet skin. His hands moved to his face, letting out a long sigh of relief as he realized that the black mask that he had put on several days ago, was still there, hiding his dreadful secret. He looked around, taking note that it was still dark, although the first rays of the sun could be seen, just barely, poking through the leafs and branches that lined the horizon. A few birds sang their early morning song, flying from tree to tree, or perching on some of the crumbling walls of the old church, that he was now calling home.

A dream. He had been dreaming again, dreaming that they had found him, that they were going to extract their revenge upon him for killing their boss. He only prayed that if they did find him, they killed him; he would rather die than spend another fifteen years in slavery.

With a groan, Erik lowered himself once more to his makeshift bed, wincing as his muscles screamed for having to lie on cold stone. He was grateful for the secrecy and sanctuary of the old church…but other than that, there was very little to be grateful for. It was quite cold, and he had to be careful if he made a fire, so as not to attract attention from others because of the smoke. All the pews had been destroyed over the years, and while some moss and ivy had grown inside, there wasn't enough to cushion his stony mattress. Erik grunted and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, his eyes gazing at the dying stars overhead.

Soon…very soon, Ravenskeep would be his again, and he would have his revenge upon Dominique and Thomas.

These vengeful thoughts were what kept him warm at night, were what fueled him all those years in Conrad's pit. He would have his revenge, he would have his title restored, and he would restore Ravenskeep to the glory his father had worked so hard to bring it to. Nothing else mattered, nothing!

But a shiver coursed through his body as he closed his eyes, and it wasn't due to the cold morning.

For now and then, when he closed his eyes…a new face, and a new voice greeted him.

Long, curly, chocolate brown hair…unraveling from beneath a boy's cap; wide, shimmering blue eyes…locking and holding his own gaze; and her small body…being held down by his own hands when he thought her a thief, and later standing before him, looking up at him, despite her small size when compared to his large frame.

He groaned and turned on his side, trying to wipe the memories of the Princess away. She was his mind's way of distracting him from the task at hand, and he needed to stay focused if he was to achieve his revenge!

Yet as sleep took hold of him once more…he could not help but admit…she was a very welcoming distraction…

* * *

"Erik? Erik? Are you in there?" 

Erik groaned, his body aching from the hard ground, as Duncan's voice filled his ears. He did not dream again since he first awoke, but despite this blessing, his mood was still foul. "Here," he grumbled, grabbing hold of one of Thomas' tunics and pulling it over his head.

Duncan appeared then, entering through one of the church's many crumbling doors, holding a small bundle in his hands. "Ah! I'm glad I found you," he sighed with relief, although his smile was quickly replaced with a frown. "Good Lord, Erik, you mean to tell me you've been sleeping all this time?"

Erik momentarily pulled his mask away to rub the sleep from his eyes. He glanced up at the sky, noting how high the sun was, and groaned once more, still feeling as if he could sleep for many more hours.

"It's the afternoon! I thought surely you would be up and about—"

"Doing what, pray tell?" Erik muttered, rising to his feet and groaning as the stiff muscles in his back and legs screamed in painful protest. "Running my manor? Seeing to my land? Doing business with other gentlemen?" he spat on the ground before him, his anger kindling once more as he thought about his stepbrother, prancing around with _his_ title.

Duncan sighed and shook his head. It had been three days since Erik had retreated to the old church, yet every day that Duncan had seen him, his young master's mood kept growing fouler and fouler. Erik was eager to return home, and Duncan could not blame him, they were all eager to have him back and see the Countess and Thomas gone for good. Yet now was the time to be patient, patient and careful, especially after learning that Conrad was dead, and his men could possibly be looking for him.

"I brought you some more food," Duncan murmured, placing the bundle he held down near Erik's makeshift bed.

Erik sighed wearily, but thanked Duncan for the gift. If Celeste wasn't careful, the Countess may notice that more food was missing from the pantry, however a woman like her would never venture into the kitchens if she could avoid it, therefore he prayed her snobbery would keep her from investigating.

"What is the news back at the manor?" Erik asked, opening the bundle and taking a bite out of the loaf of bread that Celeste had baked.

"The Countess is in all a tizzy," Duncan groaned. "She's so engrossed, she has barely questioned my reasons for returning to Ravenskeep."

Erik frowned slightly. "What has caught her attention so?"

Duncan glanced around him, as if expecting spies to appear. He then leaned forward and whispered, "The Princess is coming to Ravenskeep."

Erik was chewing on a piece of cheese at that moment, and nearly choked at the mention of the Princess. Duncan slapped Erik's back several times, until the younger man's coughing had calmed. "T-t-t-the Princess?" he gasped, his breathing returning to normal.

Duncan nodded his head. "The Countess invited Princess Christine to join her for tea. And if that weren't enough, it appears that Prince Fredrick will be joining her as well!"

Prince? Erik felt his stomach sink at the mention of a prince. At least he believed it were his stomach…

"She has us all working very hard to make sure the château is spotless for their arrival. I don't believe any of us have slept in the last day!"

Erik swallowed the last bit of cheese and narrowed his eyes in the direction of Ravenskeep. Dominique expected three servants to do the work of a thousand; she cared not for their well being, but for how she was observed by her royal guests. He thought of his friends, bent over and looking weary, just as Duncan looked right now, trying their hardest to prepare the manor for the Countess' guests, and a part of him wanted to blame their toil on the Princess, that it was her fault for their long laboring hours and lack of sleep.

But he had to remind himself that Princess Christine was not how he imagined a princess to be; she was not snobby, nor did she seem spoiled. She knew Duncan by name, she helped him achieve his freedom, and she did it all without asking for anything in return. And according to Duncan, who had spoken with her when he was at the palace, she seemed to be very caring and warm, not at all like the Countess…

Of course, then he remembered the fiery girl he had met in the forest, the one dressed in boy's clothes. Why had she been dressed in such a way? What was she running away from? And why did he care?! That was the greatest question he could not understand…

"Well, you will be glad to see her again, I'm sure," Erik grumbled, chewing on another piece of bread and looking away from the old man.

Duncan bit his lip to keep himself from grinning. "On the contrary, I must keep myself hidden as well. After all, she believes I am _your_ servant, not the Countess'."

_The Duke of Stonehearth._ Erik was beginning to regret the white lie he had told the Princess.

"Other than that, I have no news from Ravenskeep. No one has mentioned anything about a mob of men searching for an escaped prisoner, so I believe you are safe…for the time being."

"For the time being," Erik repeated, his voice soft but his eyes narrowed and focused on an unseen goal.

Duncan sighed, and glanced up at the sun once more. "I should return before the Countess grows suspicious." He turned to leave, but paused, and looked back at Erik. "Shall I return later this evening? To tell you how it went?"

Erik's brow furrowed with confusion at Duncan's question. "How it went?"

"Yes," Duncan smiled, unable to help himself. "I just…assumed you would be…_interested_…in learning more about the Princess…"

Erik had already placed his mask back on his face, and was grateful for it, as he could feel his cheeks burn beneath it. "You assumed wrong," he muttered, although he was unable to meet the old man's eyes.

Duncan only smiled. "Well, just be careful…you know, in case you decide to go for a ride near the manor…I just don't want you to be seen…" he chuckled, turning and walking away as Erik stared after him, his mouth hanging open at the old man's meaning.

* * *

Christine sighed and leaned her cheek more into the palm of her hand as she stared out the carriage window. It was a beautiful spring day; the trees were budding, flowers were blooming, and a warm breeze blew all around them, perfuming the air with spring's sweet fragrance. Yet despite all these things, Christine was anything but happy. 

It was Thursday, and it had only been two days ago that her father announced that her engagement to Prince Raoul of Roanland was canceled. The old king had taken pity on his daughter, granting her request to find love and marry a man of her choosing. However, he did have his own terms in which she had to follow. The wedding was still scheduled for the eve of her twentieth birthday! And by the night of the masquerade ball, she had to make the announcement as to who her new fiancée was! And she did not have a great amount of time between both events to find true love. In the end, she was grateful for her father's decision, but the reality of it all was extremely daunting, and Christine had no idea how to go about finding herself a husband.

A sigh escaped her lips and she allowed her eyes to close just for a moment. Suddenly, before her closed lids, an image flashed before her eyes, an image so startling it caused Christine's eyes to fly open and widen in surprise.

The image had been a face…a face hidden behind a mask.

The Duke of Stonehearth…

She could not stop thinking about the dark giant that she had briefly met that one day outside the palace, and for reasons she could not explain, it deeply troubled her that no one knew anything about him. Christine sighed again and turned her face away from the window, trying to once more prepare herself for the visit she would soon be making.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Meg asked, looking upon her sister-in-law with sympathy from across the carriage.

Christine forced a smile and nodded her head. "I'm fine, truly, I was…I just didn't sleep very well last night, that's all." It wasn't a total lie, after all, every time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing the Duke of Stonehearth's dark, masked face, and every time she trembled beneath her blankets.

Meg could detect a hint of nervousness in her friend, and simply leaned across the carriage to pat Christine's hand. "The Countess, from what I hear, is a most gracious hostess. She will do everything in her power to make sure that you are comfortable."

Christine gave a small smile, but her father's words began to echo throughout her head.

_"The Earl of Ravenskeep is a single gentleman…"_

Was that the point of the Countess' invitation? Was she hoping to align herself with the royal family by having her son marry a princess? Her father certainly made it sound as if that were the only reason…

Christine shook her head, trying to force such troubling thoughts from her mind. She knew nothing about the Earl of Ravenskeep, he may be a very delightful, charming man who shared many similar interests with her! Wasn't this what she wanted, to find a husband for herself, to find love and to experience love in a way similar to Fredrick and Meg?

"What else do you know about the Countess?" Christine asked, forcing this feeling of resolve into her heart and mind, despite the misgivings that her conscious was telling her.

"Well, I am afraid I don't know a great deal, as she has not been seen at court for nearly a year now, but she is a wealthy woman, with a large estate that is renowned throughout the province as being one of the best pieces of land. Ravenskeep, the house and the land on which it resides, is very beautiful from what I understand," Meg answered, with a sweet smile.

Christine forced the next question out, causing her pleasant smile to strain, slightly. "And…his lordship, the Earl?"

Meg's pleasant smile faded, and her brow creased with confusion. "I'm afraid I don't know much about the Earl…"

"Many women believe him to be handsome, from what I hear," Fredrick answered, his horse striding up to the window of the carriage. Christine looked up at her brother, sitting tall and handsome atop his stallion, the horse dressed in the traditional Eastergard colors of gold and blue, while Fredrick wore his decorated military uniform from his days when he served as a soldier for the King's army.

"Did the Earl serve with you and the other nobles?" Christine asked, hoping her brother could be somewhat more helpful with telling her about the Earl of Ravenskeep, when he knew nothing about the Duke of Stonehearth.

Fredrick had been thrown by his sister's question and he stared at her as if she had lost her mind. "Serve with me…? Good God, no, I—" Fredrick immediately bit his tongue to keep from saying anything more. It wasn't right for him to make judgments about a man to whom he had never spoken with directly. Yet, based on things Fredrick had heard about the present Earl, he could not deny that he wasn't eager to meet the man…or allow his sister to be alone with him.

Christine was startled by her brother's strong reaction, and she was about to question him further, when suddenly the carriage came to a crashing stop, only to make a sudden lurch forward, causing both the princesses who sat inside it to crash into themselves, before stopping once more.

"Meg!" Fredrick leapt down his horse and threw open the door, his blue eyes wide and frantic. "Are you alright? Both of you?"

"Yes, yes, we're fine, my love," Meg groaned, her hands protectively holding her large belly.

Christine groaned her agreement, before turning her head towards the window that led to the driver's seat. "What happened? What's amiss?"

Fredrick was already helping Meg out of the carriage. "Seems that the carriage wheel got stuck…"

Christine helped herself out and looked down at the carriage wheel in question. True enough; one large wheel was deeply imbedded in a large, murky puddle of mud. The driver kept cracking his whip, and the horses kept crying their protest, but it was no use. The carriage wouldn't budge.

"Stop that, that won't do any good," Christine grumbled, as the driver once more lifted his whip. The driver looked down at the Princess with wide eyes, and quickly lowered his whip, not wanting to anger the King's daughter.

"Christine…" Fredrick frowned as he watched his sister mount one of the horses, her skirts bunched up around her elbows as she climbed without the help of an escort. "Christine, what on earth do you think you're doing!?"

"I know what I'm doing," Christine grumbled, fixing her skirts as she finally settled herself down atop the large, and somewhat agitated beast. "He just needs encouragement from a rider, not a driver's whip. I'll dig my heels into his flanks, while you—" she looked directly at the carriage driver. "And the footman, push against the carriage. Together, we'll be able to get this thing out of the mud."

"Christine…" Fredrick said in a warning voice. "This is not a good idea…"

"Oh don't be silly, Fredrick! I've seen this happen a dozen times, it's simple!"

The Prince frowned. "When did you see this happen a dozen times?"

Christine chose not to answer that question, as it would reveal some of the many times when she had run away. "If you wish to see this carriage move again, dear brother, I suggest you help with pushing."

Meg bit her lip, her face etched with worry. "Christine, I think Fredrick is right, come down from there before you hurt yourself."

"I'm not going to hurt myself," Christine groaned with a slight roll of her eyes. "Now on three, you all push, while I dig my heels in. One…"

"Christine…" both Fredrick and Meg said at the same time, not liking this at all.

"Two…"

"Christine, don't do this! It's foolish!" Fredrick shouted, releasing his wife and moving towards his sister to pull her down.

"THREE!"

Before Fredrick could reach her, Christine had dug her heels into the animal's flanks, and with a mighty shout, the horse reared up on his hind legs, causing the other horses to do the same, and with a bolt, the one she rode jolted forwarded, causing all the others to follow.

The driver and the footman didn't need to push against the carriage; it was free from its muddy prison within a matter of seconds.

However, Princess Christine was not free from the horses.

"OH GOD!" Christine screamed, her arms grasping and clinging around the mighty creature's neck, as it and the other horses raced across the countryside, leaving all the others in a cloud of dust, pulling the unoccupied carriage behind them. "WOAH! WOAH!" Christine attempted to shout, but the horses were not listening, they were racing! And their speed was only increasing more and more…

The shouts of her loved ones were fading fast, and Christine dared not attempt to turn her head around, for fear of being thrown off the beast's back, and run over by the carriage, which was madly swinging from side to side behind her. She wildly attempted to grab the reins, but they quickly fell to the ground, and were being dragged behind the galloping creatures and the out of control carriage. Christine then did the only thing she could; she gripped the beast's mane and tugged as hard as she could while shouting "WOAH!"

The horse threw his head back at her tugging, startling Christine and causing her to lose her grip upon the animal! A scream filled the air around her, as she felt her body being thrown from the horse's back…only to stop mid fall by her foot tangling in the horse's decorative stirrups. However, her body was hanging from the beast's back, upside down, and all her face could see was dust and speeding carriage wheels. Another scream ripped through the air as she suddenly felt her foot begin to slip from the stirrup.

Erik had been riding atop his own horse through the countryside when he heard the Princess' screams. He was restless at the church, and longed to explore the countryside that he had played in when he was a boy. And although he denied it many times, he could not stop thinking about the chance of spotting the Eastergard royal carriage, on its way to Ravenskeep.

However, the peacefulness of his calm ride was interrupted when a woman's scream ripped through the air. He turned his head and felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw four mad horses galloping at top speed, pulling what looked to be an empty carriage behind them, which dangerously was swinging from right to left like a stringed puppet.

But it was the sight of the young woman who was hanging upside down from atop one of the beast's backs and screaming for help that truly made his heart leap in his chest. Without another thought, Erik dug his own heels into the flanks of his own horse, and sped after the screaming princess.

Christine was trying her hardest to somehow lift herself back up, but every time she attempted to make such a move, her foot slipped a little further in the stirrup, and she screamed as once more, she was dangerously lowered closer to the ground. If she tried to move one more time, she would slip completely, and be trampled over by rear horses and a runaway carriage. She was going to die! A horrible, painful death, brought on by her own stupidity. She closed her eyes and felt her tears sting the lids. She was going to die before knowing love, before feeling love's touch, before…before ever seeing the Duke of Stonehearth again…

A new sound flooded her ears, and Christine opened her eyes, gasping as through the tears, she saw another horse, galloping towards her at a wild pace. Fredrick? No, it wasn't her brother's horse; his was white, and decorated in royal robes. It didn't matter who the rider was, just so long as they could reach her before her foot slipped completely from the stirrup. "HELP! PLEASE!" she cried, holding her arms out to the stranger, and screaming as once more, she slipped down from the stirrup.

Erik growled and dug his heels deeply into the horse's flanks, speeding the beast ahead. The other horses no doubt felt the presence of his, if they had not seen it, and galloped only faster, but Erik spurred the beast on, until he was riding up next to the carriage…swearing as it nearly collided with him. He roared a mighty "YAW!" to his animal, which raced past the uncontrollable carriage, riding up alongside the other horses…closer and closer…he could nearly reach her…

Christine's eyes were blinded by tears. She could feel her foot slipping more and more. Oh God, the rider wasn't going to reach her in time! She clamped her eyes shut as she felt the hem of her skirt rip slightly, and her foot give way completely.

"AHHHHHH—umph!"

She had not hit the ground, although she was crushed against something very solid. Whatever it was, she clung to it, digging her fingers into what felt like…a tunic? She opened her eyes then, and gasped as she realized she was sitting atop a horse! She tried to move her head, but couldn't; a strong, powerful arm kept her tightly in place, and her own fear from what had just happened prevented her from doing anything, other than cling to the stranger's tunic and bury her face against his chest.

The rider didn't slow down. He continued to race alongside the horses, and Christine let out a yelp when she realized he was going to reach out and grab the bit in the front horse's mouth. But he was just one man! There was no way that all the horses would stop if he tugged on just one, even if it were the lead horse! She squeezed her eyes shut again and moved her arms until they were wrapped tightly around the rider's broad, muscular body, as he leaned out and grasped the bit.

"WOAH!" he roared, tugging even harder on the horse. "WOAH!"

The horse let out a cry of protest; however the animal was forced to slow his pace, which did cause the other horses to slow theirs. Erik did not release the animal until the creature slowed from a gallop, to a trot, to a walk, and finally, to a stop. It had been a risky move, both he and Christine could have been flung from his own animal and hit by the speeding carriage, but thankfully the horses had slowed, and as for the carriage…

A loud crashing sound was heard, as the carriage fell over onto its side, its wheels still spinning in midair. A loud, long, sigh of relief escaped Erik's lungs, and he released the horse he had grabbed, the muscles in his arm screaming with pain from the strain they had experienced, but he ignored it. He had felt far worse pain in his life…and none of that truly mattered, or so he believed as he looked down at the quivering woman who was pressed tightly against him.

Erik's arms instinctively tightened around her as he felt her shivering against him. His throat went dry as felt her small fingers loosen about his tunic, and he watched as she slowly lifted her face, her cheeks wet with tears, and her eyes…her startling blue eyes, shimmering with surprise and gratitude…as she looked up at him, catching his own gaze.

Christine's breath caught in her throat as she realized she was staring up into the masked face of the Duke of Stonehearth! The very man who had been filling her thoughts since she had met him, was here! He had rescued her! She opened her mouth to speak, to at the very least give him her thanks, but her throat had gone completely dry, she couldn't speak at all!

Erik's own eyes fell from hers to her lips, noticing how they had parted, as if to speak, but stopping and remaining silent. A strange feeling flowed over his body, and he felt a mysterious urge, something that he couldn't name, but something that he had never felt before in his life!

And then, his senses returned to him…and the words finally came out.

"What the devil did you think you were doing!?" he growled, glaring down at her, his dark eyes hardening, matching the hard lines of his mask. "You little fool, you could have been killed!"

The spell was broken, and Christine's face flooded with color as the Duke glared down at her and growled. Her hands then moved to push against his chest and create some space between them, however his own arms were locked around her, like a powerful vice, keeping her trapped against him. "Release me!" she hissed, her cheeks only growing hotter and hotter.

"Oh no, princess," Erik grumbled. "Not until you answer my question!"

Christine glared at him. "You have no right to speak to me in such a way!"

"I think I have _EVERY_ right, seeing as I risked my own life to save yours!"

"No one asked you to do so!" she retorted, wishing that he would not hold her so, wishing that they were not a breath apart, wishing he did not cause her heart to skip multiple beats! "I had everything perfectly under control—"

A loud, sarcastic laugh cut off her words, and Christine gasped as the deep sound caused her entire body to tremble. "Yes, anyone could see that," he groaned with a roll of his eyes. "Perhaps you were starting a new trend? Riding upside down without a saddle?"

Christine narrowed her eyes. "I do not care for your sarcasm. Kindly release me now, Your Grace, and allow us both the freedom to be rid of ourselves!"

Her words cut deeply, and while Erik was seething, in truth he did not want to release her. Shake her silly, yes, but release her? He was suddenly aware at how close the two of them were, and Erik found himself looking at her once more, taking in all the details that he had missed during their first encounter…although that was nearly impossible, as he had missed very little.

She was petite, perfectly small when compared to his massive frame, yet she was no delicate flower, that he could tell. Yet it amazed him how…well, it seemed, that she fit against his chest…as if she were meant to be fitted against him. Her hair, which no doubt had been contained within some sort of headdress, had fallen freely down her back and shoulders, looking wild and unkempt from her recent "ride". He tried to avoid his eyes from looking, he could not help but catch a glimpse at her breasts, which were rising and falling from every labored breath she took. The neckline was modest, but also low, causing his blood to heat at the knowledge of what lay beneath. And his eyes were also drawn to one leg…which was showing a great deal more skin than normal, as her skirt had ridden up slightly when he had pulled her off the horse. Erik swallowed and lifted his eyes away, choosing to focus them upon her face, however, that only made him stare at her lips.

Perhaps he should release her? After all, the last thing he wanted her to feel was…well…

Christine's protests died in her throat and she swallowed the nervous lump, as she felt his eyes move across her…and found her own eyes drinking him in. He was massive, that she remembered, but now, being pressed so close to him, she realized she had no idea how large he truly was. He was very broad shouldered, with long, powerful arms. Her hands were pressed against his chest, and she could feel the muscles beneath her fingers, moving and rippling with every breath he took. Christine was not the swooning type, she had never swooned in her entire life and she was very proud of that fact…

However, when in the presence of the Duke of Stonehearth, anything was possible, it seemed…

She sucked in a breath when she lifted her eyes once more to his face, and gasped when she realized he was staring right back at her. His eyes were dark, a rich brown color, yet…she could see flecks of gold within them, reminding her of warm honey. The mask created contours upon his face; sharp, hard angles that caused her to wonder if they were truly real, of if it were simply a trick of the mask. Yet it created an air of mystery about him, one that made her skin tingle and her blood grow warm. He was wearing the dark cloak she had seen him wear that day at the palace, yet the hood had fallen back, revealing a wild mass of unkempt black hair, and Christine had to force herself from not reaching up and running her hands through it.

And his mouth…her eyes were drawn to his mouth, just as his seemed to be drawn to hers…

"Christine!?"

Both Erik and Christine stiffened at the voice that called out from just behind them. Erik's back went straight, and Christine desperately tried to right her skirts. Erik's jaw tightened as a handsome young man galloped towards them, his eyes wide and full of concern as they stared back at the princess.

"Oh Christine, oh thank God you are safe!" the man gasped as his horse came right up beside Erik's. The man then looked up at Erik, although the sight of the mask momentarily startled him. "I…t-t-thank you, sir!" he finally managed to get out, after conquering his surprise. "Thank God you were close and able to—"

"I am no hero," Erik interrupted, before bowing his head. No doubt this was the prince that Duncan had mentioned. "I only did what any man in my position would do."

Christine felt a chill run across her skin at the Duke's words. Despite the argument they had just been having, she could not deny that yes; the Duke of Stonehearth was indeed, a hero. _Her_ hero…

"I am just grateful your wife did not come to any harm," Erik muttered, not looking at either the Prince or Christine, fully prepared to pick her up and hand her over to him…

"My wife…?" Fredrick glanced at Erik and then at Christine and then back at Erik. "Oh! Oh, no sir, you are mistaken, Princess Christine is my sister."

Erik froze at the words. "Your…your sister?"

Fredrick smiled. "Yes, my wife is Princess Marguerite…" he turned his horse slightly and from behind his own large, strong frame, both Erik and Christine could see a lovely blonde woman, holding tight to the Prince.

"Oh Christine!" Meg grinned, happy to see her friend unharmed. "Oh thank you, sir!" she smiled, beaming up at Erik with thankful eyes. "Thank you for saving her, oh Christine, I was so worried! I insisted that Fredrick carry me—"

"Yes, but I could not go very fast without bringing harm to the child," Fredrick groaned, before quickly dismounting his horse and helping his very pregnant wife down.

Erik glanced back and forth between the blonde woman and the Prince. "She…" he murmured, pointing at Meg. "She is your wife?"

Fredrick couldn't help but smile, and wrapped his arm around Meg's small shoulders. "Yes, and the mother of Eastergard's next king," he grinned, before turning his eyes back to Erik. "And as I said, Princess Christine is my sister."

Erik turned and caught Christine's blue gaze once more, and before he could even breathe, three soft words escaped the Princess' mouth.

"I'm not married…"

A deep scarlet color flooded Christine's face. Why had she said that!? What on earth had possessed her to give that information to him!? As if he cared about her marital status…

Erik felt his own face flush with color at the Princess' words, and he quickly turned his eyes away from hers. Without another word, he lifted the Princess up, causing Christine to gasp, and placed her firmly on the ground. Fredrick was there to receive her, however neither he nor Meg seemed to have been aware of the awkward exchange between the other two.

"Are you a stranger to Eastergard, sir?" Fredrick asked.

Erik swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the hollowness he now felt that Christine was out of his arms. "No, I…I have been abroad for…for a long time, and have only just returned."

Meg smiled and laced her arm through Christine's. The blonde princess was surprised to find her sister-in-law trembling, and assumed it was because of a chill air. "If I may inquire your name, sir? So that we may know who the noble gentleman was that rescued our dear Christine?"

Both Erik and Christine blushed brightly, however it was Christine who answered before Erik could even think of what to say.

"He is the Duke of Stonehearth…" she murmured, glancing up at him briefly, before quickly lowering her eyes once more.

"The Duke of Stonehearth?" Meg gasped, looking at Christine for confirmation and then looking back up at Erik. "You are he?"

Erik wasn't sure how to respond. What on earth had she told them!? He had given her a false name, but it appeared that she had chosen to share his secret identity with the entire kingdom!

Prince Fredrick's brow furrowed at his wife's question. "The Duke of Stonehearth?" he glanced at his sister, who was biting her lip and locking her eyes with the ground, trying her hardest to shield her red cheeks. Realization dawned on the Prince. "This was the man to whom you asked me about, Meg? The man that Christine had asked if either of us knew?"

_Oh God in heaven,_ Christine groaned to herself. She wanted to die then and there. She didn't dare lift her eyes to the Duke, no doubt she would find them either laughing at her, or looking at her with great disdain. "Y-y-yes, Fredrick," she muttered, her face burning more and more. What was the Duke thinking!? The man had just saved her life, and she was caught between thankfulness and fury. The last thing she wanted was to make him think that she had done nothing but talk about him and think about him since their brief meeting in the castle courtyard…although, in truth, that _was_ what she had been doing, but still! She didn't want him thinking that!

Erik clenched his teeth to stifle the groan that was rising up in his throat. It was too late now to deny the lies he had already spun; apparently Princess Christine had a rather large mouth and had told the whole of the palace! How many servants knew about him? Oh God, how many courtiers! That was the last thing he needed, people talking throughout the province, getting the message back to the Countess' ears and causing suspicion. But what could he do? Nothing…

"Yes," Erik finally answered. "I…I was at the palace just a few days ago…buying back a servant who had been sold to the palace to cover…an old debt."

"Oh…I see," Fredrick murmured, although this was news to him. He shook his head, choosing not to dwell on such questions. The point of the matter was that his sister had been in great peril, but thanks to the Duke, she was safe and very much alive. Sadly, the same could not be said for the carriage, which now lay on its side a few feet away, in complete shambles. "Knew what you were doing, eh?" Fredrick muttered, glaring back at his sister.

Christine glared right back at her brother, but Meg interceded before an argument could break out. "It appears that we shall have to go the rest of our way on horseback. Joshua?"

The footman who had been traveling with them, and who had just made it to where they were now standing, nodded his head, and with the help of the carriage driver, went to work of releasing the horses from one another, who at the moment were busy munching on the grass at their hooves.

"Meg, you can't be serious," Fredrick hissed at his wife. "You and Christine have no saddles!"

"We can make due, can't we my dear?" Meg asked, smiling at Christine, her green eyes twinkling with a hidden knowledge. "Besides, we won't gallop; it's not very far from here."

Fredrick rolled his eyes, but chose not to argue. Instead, he helped his wife mount one of the released horses, before moving to help his sister. However, Christine was way ahead of him. "I can manage on my own," she muttered, wanting to prove before her brother…and the Duke, that she didn't need help, that she truly did have things under control.

She gripped the horse's mane, and with a deep breath, leapt up to swing her foot around the mighty animal's back. However, it was a little more difficult without proper stirrups, and Christine found herself scrambling slightly to stay atop the beast.

Her ears caught a sound just off to her left, and Christine quickly glanced in the direction of the Duke. Was it her imagination? Or was the Duke of Stonehearth…chuckling at her!?

"Christine—"

"I'm fine, Fredrick!" she hissed, pushing his hands away and righting herself atop the creature, who was still contentedly eating grass. She quickly fixed her skirts and patted her hair down, trying to restore some sanity to the chaos of her brown curls, and lifted her chin and held it high, her eyes catching those of the Duke's as she did so.

Erik bit his lip, trying very hard not to chuckle further as he watched the Princess adapt a cool and haughty posture, after just scrambling up atop a horse like a child climbing a wall. He had to admit…there was something admirable about the girl…

_Don't think of her like that; she's not a girl, she's a _princess_, and you keep reminding yourself that, _Your Grace.

"Your Grace?"

Erik was startled, realizing that Princess Marguerite was addressing him.

Meg smiled. "Will you not join us?"

Erik paled at the woman's words. "I…I b-beg your pardon?"

"Will you not join us?" she repeated, her smile warm and kind. "We know very little about you, and would very much like to learn more. Will you not join us on our journey?"

Christine stared at Meg, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. However as soon as the Duke glanced towards her, she quickly shut her mouth and lifted her chin, looking away…save out of the corner of her eye.

"Splendid idea, my love," Fredrick smiled, before turning his attentions once more on Erik. "I am very curious to learn where Stonehearth is…I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with the name."

Erik's head was swimming with excuses for not joining them, as well as with potential answers to all the questions they no doubt had about his fictional title. However, the answer he gave surprised him more than any other word…and he only gave it after glancing one more time at the brown-haired princess. "It would be an honor…"

"Wonderful!" Meg grinned. Christine only blushed, but continued to look away. Inside, Erik was groaning; what had he just gotten himself into? Meg then ordered the driver to take one of the remaining horses back to the palace and explain what had happened to the carriage, while the rest of them continued onward. "Fredrick, my love? Will you ride beside me?"

Christine blushed even more as she realized that she and the Duke of Stonehearth would be riding side by side…_alone_. Indeed, her suspicions were confirmed when Meg urged her own horse a little further away from her own, causing Fredrick to follow. Their footman also distanced himself some way behind them, and Christine's face burned brightly as she realized that she and the Duke were, for the most part, alone.

Erik had also noticed this. Even though it was the idea of the other princess that he travel with them so that they could get to know him better…it seemed that the only person who would be present to ask him any questions, or speak with him at all…was Princess Christine.

Silence fell upon them, while Meg and Fredrick spoke with one another up ahead. Both Erik and Christine were very much aware of the awkward silence between the two of them, and neither one of them truly knew how to break it.

"Well—"

"I—"

They both shut their mouths when their words collided with one another. Christine bit her lip and glanced out of the corner of her eye up at the large man who rode beside her. Despite the mask, there was no mistaking how harsh his features were…and yet, there also seemed to be something rather…handsome about him as well. Perhaps more rugged than handsome? Christine's eyes lowered from his face to his shoulders, and she felt her breath catch as she watched the muscles beneath his tunic sleeves move as his hands gripped the reins of his horse. She swallowed a large lump in her throat as she focused on his long, dark fingers. Beautiful was not the best word to describe them, and yet Christine could not think of another; beautiful…truly, his hands were beautiful.

Erik turned his eyes just briefly towards her, and Christine gasped and quickly turned her head away. No doubt she was staring at his mask, he thought to himself. Perhaps she was wondering why he wore it. Well, that was one question he would never answer, royalty or not.

"I…" Christine began again, blushing deeply and trying her hardest to keep a cool composure. "So, what brings you to these woods, Your Grace?"

Erik turned and looked at her, surprised that this time she did not look away, although he could tell that the smile she wore was forced. "I felt like riding…" he simply answered, staring straight ahead.

"Oh…" Christine murmured, her smile fading, unsure exactly what to say to that. She was trying to make polite conversation, but he wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to. "So…so you enjoy riding?"

Erik looked at her and nodded his head. "When I have the opportunity, I find it most enjoyable, yes."

Christine lifted a dark brow at his words. "Do you not often get the opportunity then?"

A heavy sigh escaped Erik's lips. She was the most inquisitive person he had ever met! The people that he cared about had known him since he was a small child, therefore they never asked him questions about his life, because they knew it all! And the other people he had encountered cared only about the money his strength and disfigured flesh could make for them. No one had ever wanted to _learn_ anything about him!

"I beg your pardon."

Erik was jolted by her words and looked at her strangely. "What?"

Christine nibbled her bottom lip before lifting her eyes once more to his. "I just…I realized that my question may have seemed too…personal, and I did not wish to make you uncomfortable."

Asking whether he did not often have the opportunity to ride was a personal question? Yet in some ways, for him, it was personal; he loved riding horses when he was a boy, and now, for the first time since he escaped Conrad's imprisonment, he was riding again. However, personal or not, it was a simple question, one that he could answer, and not give her cause to feel embarrassed. "It has been some time since I could enjoy riding, Your Highness," Erik answered, truthfully. "But now I find that I do have the time and the opportunity to enjoy it once more."

Christine smiled at this, glad that she hadn't offended him. "I enjoy it too."

Erik looked at her and could not help but smile at her words. "I imagined you would."

Another blush colored Christine's cheeks, and she looked down at her hands, laced through the horse's mane. "So…you are from Eastergard, but have been abroad?"

Erik's smile faded slightly at her question. He only hoped that in the mix of all his lies, he did not make a mistake. "Yes…" he answered, somewhat tentatively.

"Where did you travel?" Christine asked immediately following his answer. Erik glanced at her and was surprised by the look of fascination and wonder in her wide, blue eyes.

"France…Italy…England…India—"

Christine gasped. "You have been to India!?"

_No,_ Erik replied in his mind. However, many of the goods that Conrad forced him to unload from his ships were from those places.

"I long to travel…" Christine sighed, her eyes looking off into the horizon. "To see those places, those cities…to ride a camel through the desert, to see the ancient pyramids, to walk through Roman ruins, to even sail across the ocean!"

Erik was caught up in her passionate dream that he too, found himself longing to see those very things.

"Oh please, tell me about India? Is it true that it gets so hot, that it feels like the air around you has turned into water?"

Erik longed to answer her question, to help fuel her dreams, but that was one thing he could not lie about. However, he did have one answer. "The spices perfume the air like nothing you could ever imagine…and it feels…like a heavy blanket, surrounding and engulfing you completely." Indeed, that was how it felt when he first sniffed Indian spices from one of Conrad's many crates.

Christine closed her eyes and smiled. "It sounds wonderful…" she whispered.

Erik gazed upon her for a moment, admiring her profile, her skin, her lips. She was not a dazzling beauty, not in the same way her sister-in-law was…but she was beautiful, in a very natural and somewhat mystical way…

"I would have thought…that a princess would be well versed in traveling," he admitted.

Christine opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, before lifting them once more to look at him. "Sadly, no. I have been to Roanland, where I have family, but...that is all."

Erik held her gaze, his eyes drawn deeply into her own. He saw longing in their depths, a longing that reflected similar feelings within himself. "You will see them one day, I promise."

Christine's brow furrowed at his words, and Erik felt his own cheeks burn beneath his mask. Why had he said that? How could he make such a promise to her? It wasn't as if it were in his power to grant her such wishes…

Silence fell between them again. Christine glanced out of the corner of her eye at him, once again admiring his strong, harsh features. Erik felt her eyes and turned to look at her, to which she quickly covered her embarrassment with another question. "How is Duncan?" she asked, her voice squeaking slightly.

"He…he is well, thank you," Erik replied.

Christine smiled, trying to hide her blush. "I…I assumed he would be with you…"

"I chose to give him the day off," Erik lied. "He…he has been away from his family, so…"

"Of course," Christine murmured, looking down and nodding her head. "I'm sure they all missed him dreadfully, and are very happy to have him back…"

"They are," Erik confirmed, happy to be able to speak the truth, once more.

Christine's brow furrowed again, as a new realization dawned on her. "Your Grace, where is Stonehearth?"

Erik paled at her question, his eyes going wide. This was the one question he had been dreading over all others…

"Is it close? I only ask since you are still here in the province, and Duncan, as you mentioned, is home with his family—"

"On the contrary," Erik interrupted. "It's…it's rather far from here. I…" _Think, man, think!_ "I am visiting relatives, actually."

"Oh!" Christine smiled at this, hoping that perhaps whoever the Duke's relatives were, she would know their names. "Who are they?"

"My relatives," Erik answered, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Christine's smile fell, and her brow creased with confusion. "Yes…I understand that, but _who_ are they?"

"The only relatives I have," he answered, mentally kicking himself over and over. Was this the best he could do!?

Christine lifted a dark brow at this answer. "Your Grace…forgive my bluntness, but are you purposefully avoiding my question?"

"No…" he lied, before glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "And yes," he muttered under his breath.

Christine frowned and opened her mouth to ask yet again, but stopped herself when she noticed how the Duke's horse came to an abrupt stop. He was staring straight ahead, and it looked as though all the breath had gone out of him. "Your Grace?" Christine asked, concern filling her heart at the frozen way he stared straight ahead.

"Ah! Here we are!" Meg called out from up ahead. Christine looked up and realized that they were standing upon the road that led to a large, and beautiful, stone château. "Ravenskeep," Meg announced, turning her head and smiling at Erik and Christine. "I do hope you can join us for tea, Your Grace? I'm sure that the Countess Delahoussaye will not mind—"

"Forgive me, Your Highnesses, but I must be going," Erik interrupted, his eyes never leaving the château.

"Must you?" Meg asked, her eyes falling upon Christine, her lovely face filled with concern.

"I'm afraid I must," Erik lied. "I have urgent business to attend to, and have put it off far too long. Please forgive me, Your Highness." His eyes locked with Christine's as he finished his words, and without another look, he turned his horse and quickly urged it away.

Both Meg and Fredrick frowned, but seemed to have a look of gentle understanding upon their faces. Christine, however, was watching him leave with wide, confused, and somewhat terrified eyes.

Terrified that perhaps, this was the last she would see of him.

"Your Grace!"

Erik pulled on the reins and turned towards the Princess, his breath still as he awaited her words.

"I…may I…" she knew he was the Duke of Stonehearth, but that was simply his title; she longed to know his name. However, she feared that perhaps that was too intimate a question, especially with her brother and sister-in-law present. "I…I do hope that we will meet again," she murmured, her eyes filled with hope.

"Indeed, yes," Fredrick added, riding his horse towards that of his sister's. "Perhaps during the Birthday Festival? There will be a jousting tournament this Saturday; all nobles are encouraged to enter. There will be a handsome prize, from what I understand."

Erik bowed his head towards the prince. "We shall see," was all he said. He caught Christine's gaze one more time, before digging his heels into the horse's flanks and taking off at a fast-paced gallop down the lane.

"Mysterious…but he does seem like a decent fellow," Fredrick murmured. "Of course, he did save your life, Christine, therefore I am eternally grateful to the gentleman."

Christine only nodded her head and watched with a heavy heart, as the Duke disappeared from sight. She only prayed that it would not be forever…


End file.
